Leviathan's Fin
by markofthemoros
Summary: Pirate AU! On his way back home from peace negotiations with the island nation of Accordo, Prince Noctis is kidnapped by a band of pirates that seem to be after a booty even more precious than a royal hostage. As they wander the endless oceans, Noctis slowly forms a bond with a strange blond boy who seems out of place amidst this crowd of cut-throats. Hoist the black flag, lads!
1. Prologue

**Hey guys! I do hope you're ready for some epicness since I think I've found my One Piece, my Bleach, my eternity project. I give you Leviathan's Fin, a total AU just to cater to my itch to write something wickedly awesome. It's just for pure fun this time, I will kinda work on this in between other works or when I'll feel like it, so the updates might be less regular than usually.**

 **A couple things, I try to make this as realistic as possible. So there's no crystal magic, no potions, not any of that. A pure AU. Also, it's a pirate story, so it's gonna have some pretty cruel violence and character death, so if those kinda things bother you, perhaps you should find something else to read.**

 **Now, wind in the sails, fellas!**

* * *

The boards creaked precariously; the sweet yet stale odor of mold rose to his nostrils, to mix into the electrifying cocktail of sweat, reeds and earthy musk. His heart thumping deafeningly in the surrounding silence, Prompto shifted around slightly. A near-silent whimper was released, followed by an involuntary gulp, and his skin brushed against the threatening steel held close to his throat.

"Well, well, well… what have we here?" The mockingly sweet smile was audible in the velvety voice behind him. Not daring to turn around, Prompto's breath hitched. "Looks like I found myself a rat."

The young man gulped. "I-I was just-"

"Stealin," the other voice interrupted, taking an authoritative note.

"N-no! I..."

"You were just thinkin' you could just sneak your way in here and snatch my cargo, didn't you?" the voice went on, ignoring him. A sharp intake was drawn as the blade pressed down a little. "Do you have any idea who you're stealin' from, cretin?"

"I-I wasn't stealin', I was jus'-"

"A rat, and a liar!" the voice spat, and an invisible hand grabbed Prompto's wrist painfully, forcing his fingers to loosen around the precious object. The young man felt his heart crumble along with the sound of it clattering onto the floor; he had just signed his own death sentence. "And what are you callin' this then, eh?"

"Please…" he started, his voice shaking and pitched with fear. "It's, it's just an apple. Please, I haven't eaten in three days…"

"You think I give a rat's ass, you thievin' little shit?!" Prompto let out a surprised yelp as he was shoved forward suddenly. He managed a couple of steps, but when his foot got tangled into a pile of rope, Prompto knew that he was in serious trouble. Somewhere between gazing at the leather sails earlier that evening and finding himself crouching among the vast containers of food and drinking water, Prompto had learned to expect this. For things to jar at some point. He just hadn't thought it'd get quite this bad. As the lithe form met the hardwood with a choked cry, and the boot crushed him into the floor and ground into his shoulder a second later, Prompto knew he'd never see them again.

He would never see anything else again.

"Do you know," the voice started lowly, "what happens to thieves in this town?"

He did.

"Please-" he was cut off with a sharp yelp at the flare of fire on his shoulder socket.

"I should just slit your scrawny little throat right here, thief. It ain't worth the noose." The metal pressed into the skin a little, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface, and the pinned man tensed under the foot. As the cold eyes watched the rapid rises and falls of the lanky ribcage and the subtle trembling of his shoulders, the ladycaptain for the first time really got a good look of the captive. It was a kid, couldn't be older than seventeen. And by the looks of it, the boy had been telling the truth when he had said that he'd been starving. The tattered rags the kid wore hung about him loosely; hell, the bony structure looked like it had gone without a crumble for weeks.

It was pathetic. The kid had gone completely still, the pants shuddery but quiet, and he was craning his neck back almost unnaturally, to put as much distance between the skin and the steel as possible. Wary eyes shifted on and off the steel, the walls, even the damn apple that had rolled three feet away. The brat was absolutely terrified. And for good reason. The rumor had it that the Crown's men preferred to take their time with the prisoners, to have a little fun. And a kid like this one…

Well, let's just say that Aranea Highwind wasn't sorry they were sailing out at sunrise. It wasn't anything one would want to witness.

Unless…

A cold shiver ran Prompto through when he heard the chuckle above him. It had been a sound of deliberation. Promising, but not of the positive kind. He was convinced when the voice practically purred, "You know, my little rat… you should consider yourself lucky. There might be some use for you yet."

And Prompto wasn't sure if he'd rather have the gallows. That wasn't his choice to make, though. Kicking and screaming was all he could do as two crew members stepped into the hold, and he was dragged away.

Left to listen to the distancing wails, the captain bowed down to snatch the apple, and chuckling a little, took a generous bite.


	2. A Royal Mess

Two months later

1 – A Royal Mess

The distant creaks of the masts sounded through the ceiling and a few higher waves licked the panes of the small window; deep blue eyes flicked up briefly but disinterestedly before returning to the words spelled before him in neat handwriting. An honest, satisfied smile tugged the edges of thin lips, and a finger traced the decorative floral patterns on the circular object he held casually on his lap. With a content sigh, he set it down to rest on the document, before crossing his arms behind his head and leaning backwards in a stretch. Prince Noctis let out a stifled mewl as he heard a less than graceful series of small snaps as his back and shoulders regained their full range in one go.

The peace negotiations had been a success, there was no other way to put it. Finally, the five-year long feud with the island nation of Accordo was officially over. He had it here in black and white, with the Queen Camelia's crest and the royal adjutants' signatures. He could return home to his father with the good news, and life would go back to normal again. The smile faded from the young man's features as he recalled witnessing the decline of the King of Lucis, his father, as the long war slowly wore him down. The man he had come to love as a father and adore as a leader; Noctis regretted having to see how he was slowly stripped of his glory, reduced into a mere reflection of his former self as the war raged on and his people died off-shore, far away from home. And on land, the families left behind suffered as the rising taxes on the farmers' crops nearly drove his people to the brink of famine.

A finger rose to trace the ornament leaves and lilies again. The price of the peace had been high. Secure trading routes to and throughout Lucis and all that, that stuff he had been expecting. He had discussed the details with the royal advisors for hours upon hours before he had set sail for Accordo, deducing the possible conditions the throne of Altissia would come to demand. But he hadn't expected _this_ : a marital agreement, due to come into effect in six months. And the worst part of it was, he had barely met the girl. She had been pretty, Noctis had to give her that. Hell, he had been nearly swept off his feet at the sight. But he had got to talk to her for only a few words, he didn't even know her, and now they expected him to marry her?! The mere thought gave him the butterflies. Would she even come to like him? And would he be a good husband? He didn't know, hadn't given it much thought before now. Not two weeks ago, the whole idea of marrying had seemed so distant to him, and now he was rushing into it headfirst.

There was nothing he could do about it, though; it was his duty as the prince of Lucis to do what was best for his country and his people, and if something like that was the price for the peace, then so be it. It was time for this war to be put to an end. And time had been of the essence. Little as Noctis liked to admit it, he knew that Lucis wouldn't have lasted for much longer. Not with the way his father…

Pulling in a deep breath, he forced his thoughts from the gutter and he loosened the fingers that were now clutching Queen Camelia's gifted mirror. 'It's over,' he reminded himself sternly. He held the proof of it in front of his eyes. Now he would just have to present the agreement to his father at the court, and they could put it all behind them for good. Just that, then over.

He would worry about the marriage later.

His hands on his knees, the prince pushed himself from his writing chair and with a few swift shakes of his stiffened shoulders, he headed for the door leading to the short aisle and the stairs that would take him out onto the deck.

* * *

Prompto could hear the approaching steps from all the way across the entire ship. Somehow, he just always knew when those steps were coming for him. They seemed to take a particular tempo, like the steps had known exactly which notes to hit to get his pulse running as the sound came closer. Steeling himself to hear the gruff voice, Prompto made sure to keep his fingers running, in hopes the other wouldn't notice the subtle tremble in them if he just kept them busy.

"Hey, Rat!" boomed the voice of the first mate.

"A-aye, sir?" he made sure to look surprised, as he if hadn't been counting the steps up until the man's taller form reached him.

Wedge's cold eyes peered down at him disapprovingly. "Hmph. Yar turn to take up the mast. Get clamb'rin'."

"Me?" Prompto blurted out in honest surprise. "But I- ah!" His head was thrown to the side by the force of the backhand; the hit left his cheek on pin-prickles as his eyes cracked back open.

"Did ya jus' talk back to me, Rat?" the man spoke lowly, threateningly. The blond gulped down the pain to force his tone as he replied,

"No, sir."

Wedge took a step closer. Hovering over the young man, he hissed to his face, "Good. Now, get on with it." His body language took a subtle turn to vehemence, and Prompto took that as his cue to ditch the rope he had been tying, and scurry his way to the net-like weave leading up to the main mast. A lump rose into his throat as his eyes ran up the tall structure, and an ill twirl twisted his stomach. One look at the impatient face of the first mate, though, and Prompto understood that he had better hurry before the man would come to decide that he was being "disobedient". He shook at the thought, a fleeting touch finding the markings on his wrist, light like a feather; he didn't want to go through a retake of that, ever. So he breathed deep through his nostrils before he pulled himself to hover on the rigging, and started climbing.

'Don't look down. Just don't look down,' he chanted in his mind as he ascended as steadily as he could. When his hand met the sturdy railing of the crow's nest, Prompto sighed out a shuddery breath of relief before pulling himself over the edge on shaky arms and legs, and slumped to curl into a tight ball at the bottom of the wooden basket.

He could feel the first tugs of seasickness setting in already. As the ship rocked even the slightest amount, he could feel the sway as the nest travelled around in the winds, the precarious creaking sounds of the mast making his heart throb with anticipation as the structures protested against the constant movement. 'This is the worst!' It was like being drunk. His head spun at the motions of his temporary prison, the steady yet merciless back-and-forths making his vision blur. Closing his eyes helped a little, but it did nothing ease the trickles of panic as the wood complained a little under each shift of the applied weight.

He lied there just breathing, as still as he could despite the steadily growing discomfort. He couldn't even think of actually rising to look over the railing. The thought of the height made his skin crawl, and his stomach flipped dangerously. "Urk…!" Clasping a shaking hand over his mouth, Prompto fought the nausea, drawing controlled breaths through his nose. 'C'mon,' he sent a silent prayer. 'C'mon!' His prayers fell on deaf ears as one particularly violent lurch of the rack sent him reeling. Scampering onto his knees, Prompto instinctively reached over his safety as he retched.

Wiping away the last trails of the foul taste, Prompto cracked his eyes open; a small sound of disgust left him, and he spat a couple of times in hopes of ridding himself of the acid now coating his mouth. "That's digusting…" His voice trailed into silence, however, as he thought he'd seen something. In the distance, no more than a shadow against the slowly dimming skyline, Prompto made out the silhouette of a ship.

Gathering his bearings quickly, the blond steeled himself to lean a notch further over the railing, slender fingers clutching the bar for dear life as his eyes scanned the upper deck. "Ship ahoy, cap'n! Starboard bow!"

A gust of wind petted the silvery hair as a curious pair of eyes rose to the direction of the timid voice. Aranea ran a hand through the locks in a carefree manner, a sinister smile rising over her features as her sharp eyes narrowed a fraction.

"Finally."

* * *

Noctis stretched his arms above his head at the feel of the breeze on his face. It was getting chillier, the evening was reaching over the sky slowly, and the teasing aroma of food carried out from the crew's quarters. Digging out his pocket watch, the prince checked the time; it was still a while until dinner, plenty for a little stroll, and he took into a casual step towards the rear deck. Accompanied by the 'your highnesses' and bowed greetings of the crew as he passed them by, Noctis let his eyes go around the deck lazily, mildly admiring each little detail and nook until they came to rest on the brightening features of his captain.

"I was beginning to think Your Highness had died down there," the laughing voice greeted him. Closeness masked under the front of formality, but Noctis surely didn't mind.

"Nyx," he greeted with a simple nod, flashing the man a small grin. He acknowledged the first mate's salute with another nod before turning his attention from the both of them; the blue eyes travelled over the sea, a nameless longing written over his handsome features.

"Everything alright, milord?"

"Just fine. Just, it's nice to catch a breather every once in a while," the younger man spoke but didn't turn to look at him. He seemed to be deep in thought, and although nothing seemed particularly off about that, the captain's dark brows knead just slightly.

"Uh-huh." He didn't sound convinced, something that didn't escape the prince's attention. "With all due respect, Your Highness, I beg to differ." The raven's attention was back on him, the expression demanding him to explain. "You didn't come out here just for a sniff, Your Highness."

Noctis burst out laughing a little at the bluntness of his friend. Nyx, although always keeping up appearances when they weren't alone, had always had the talent to see through him, every step of the way. "No, I… I guess not."

"That's what I thought. So, what's troublin' ya?" Noctis raised an eyebrow, and the man added a hasty, "Milord."

Sighing deep, the raven averted his gaze. "I guess it's just… so hard to believe it's really over."

"Indeed. His Majesty will be most pleased with your deeds, milord." Noctis just nodded absentmindedly.

"I hope so…" He held a small pause, then, "Hey, Nyx?"

"Yes, milord?"

Noctis looked like he was about to say something; his mouth hung open, and his head jerked forward ever so slightly. But no words came out as he suddenly snapped his jaw into a tight line and shook his head a little. "Uhm, nothing. Nevermind." The other raised a curious eyebrow, communicating a silent urge for the boy to speak up, but he never received a reply as another voice broke through his reverie.

"Captain!" The frost eyes followed the sound up to the mast where his scout gestured towards the fading daylight in their rear. "A ship ahoy, captain!"

"A ship…?" was muttered mainly to himself before his attention crossed over to the first mate. "Libertus."

"Way ahead of you, cap'n." Already having his spyglass out, the said man peered into the distance. Soon, his face fell as a deep frown settled in. "It's an Accordon frigate, sir," he announced, a subtle disbelief present in the steady tone. "Headed right at us."

"Accordon?!" the prince exclaimed in confusion. "The hell do they want with us now?"

"Language, Your Highness," Nyx scolded him bemusedly before returning to his first mate. "Any signs of hostility?"

"Negative. They're headed this way full sail, but the cannons are withheld still." The man glanced at his captain, "Shall I alert the escorts, sir?"

Nyx's mouth was a thin line as he went through the possibilities. Had Altissia sent an envoy after them, so soon after they had departed? And if so, why? What could have possibly come up that was so dire they would sent an envoy to chase down the royal courier? It seemed far-fetched. Something about this seemed off. He couldn't put a finger on it but… his instincts were blaring. Still, one look at the confused yet curios look on the youth's face told him the prince wasn't going to be too great of a help. He almost regretted voicing his question, "What do you think, milord? Shall we let them come?"

He could hear the gulp sliding down the raven's throat. His eyes were glued onto the slowly nearing light blue and wave-decorated sails in the distance, nervous teeth nibbling his lower lip slightly until he finally spoke, "We are under an oath of peace by the queen of Accordo. She gave me her word. I don't think they'd threaten us, Nyx. I just really wanna know what they're on about." He sounded curious, even mildly excited under the obvious confusion. For the life of him, Noctis couldn't imagine why Altissia would have sent an envoy - and a frigate, to top it off - less than a day after they had raised the anchor. And now he couldn't wait to find out. Seeing the excitement flash in the curious eyes, Nyx visibly rolled his. He had seen that look on the prince before. It had usually landed at least one of them in trouble.

Libertus had observed the exchange keenly. "The escorts, sir?" making sure he talked to his captain, although he wasn't expecting the order, not anymore. His assumption was confirmed as Nyx motioned him to fall back,

"All ships, stand down." One more glance at the prince, and he added, "Assume them not hostile. They are allowed at our side." With a brisk salute and an affirmative 'sir', the first mate ushered to pass the orders around. Ordering the sails to be reduced to half sail, Nyx slowed his fleet down to wait for the envoy.

* * *

The cold eyes flicked up to the crow's nest, and a predatory grin rose over the fair features. "Finally."

Next to her, Wedge unfolded his arms. "Shall I give the orders, cap'n?" She nodded once,

"Do it." Aranea grabbed the helm with both hands as she listened how the gruff voice gave out orders and then the thumping of feet on the deck as a few of her men scurried below while others started to untangle the knots.

Up in his basket, Prompto's attention was drawn from the horizon at a high-pitched, grating sound. First from his left, then his right, from behind him until the cacophony of rusted pulleys came from all around him as the ropes were being loosened. He mouthed a quiet 'what the' as he saw the sails slowly being hauled down from the main mast. The foresail was the second to go, and Prompto couldn't help but peer down as much as he dared to see what was going on. The ship seemed to slow down into a halt as the last sails were lowered, leaving the masts stand bare in the gales like trees in December.

His heart missed a few when the hair-raising creaking started again, and something was being hoisted. It could be only one thing, too. As the object rose higher, Prompto's brows furrowed. It was getting dimmer, but he knew that color. "But those are..." his voice faded, only forming the last of it on his stiffened lips. Prompto's mouth hung agape as he watched how the light blue and white wave-shaped emblems of Accordo slowly rose to catch the wind.

"Wa-wait… why're you…?" Something was wrong. Why would they sail under the Accordon? And why change them now, why not at a port...? "What are you doing?" Then it clicked, and the sky-blue eyes snapped to the horizon; a bead of moisture slid down his throat quietly.

'What are you doing, captain' was mouthed. Prompto's weight was suddenly thrown against the railing as the light blue waves picked wind, and the ship jerked forward, first only slightly, as if the vessel was testing its newest appliances. Then, it sped up as the sails were blown full with a strong gust, and accompanied by a few more creaks, Prompto saw how the oceanic crown and whale embellished flag was hoisted. "No…" Stiff fingers clutched the hardwood railing as the ship picked up speed, the frigate gliding on the waves towards the slowly emerging profile of a ship in the distance. His teeth grit in worry; this wasn't good.

Prompto had a bad feeling about this.

The ladycaptain's voice called up, "Hey, Rat! Haul your sorry ass back down here, you're coming too!" Not for the first time, Prompto's instincts told him to run at the sound of her. The sheer _hunger_ in that voice, that eagerness… it had him near reeling as he gulped down hard. Suspended in his high prison, though, the young man had only one way to go, and suddenly Prompto found himself almost wishing he could just stay here and keep being seasick. Whatever this was, whatever was going on made the hairs in the back of his neck stand. This wasn't any whim, this was something planned. Premeditated and purposeful. A deadly combination Prompto really didn't want to delve into.

 _'You're coming too.'_

That hadn't rung nicely to him.

"Hurry up, kiddo!" there was mockery in her voice. "Or I'll cut off your tongue!" Inwardly flinching at the threat, Prompto peered over the safety of the railing hesitantly. His heart rate had climbed, and suddenly he could feel the clamminess of his palms. "Well, here goes nothing," he whispered to himself before grabbing a hold of the edge of the basket.

That's where he froze for a moment as the height made his vision swim. His eyes squeezed shut automatically, and he drew in a panicky breath. "Dammit…!" _'I'll cut off your tongue!'_ Shaking his head a little to rid himself of the ladycaptain's laughing voice, Prompto summoned the willpower. "You can do this. It's nothing, it's just a leap. Just a little leap…" 'Just a little leap that's gonna lead you falling straight down to your death… dammit!' With a hissed grunt, he forced his weight onto the hind leg and swung the other over the railing, and stilling there until he was sure he had found a steady footing, Prompto slowly wormed his way down.

"Enjoyed the view?" the captain threw sardonically as he jumped the last few feet. Doing his best to ignore it, the young man asked,

"Aye, cap'n?"

Hardly sparing him a glance, Aranea flicked her wrist towards the stairs leading below deck. "Go change." She cast him a cunning look, "You can't meet the royals dressed up like that."

If Prompto had an answer, it stuck to his throat. Royals?! "Ro-royals, ma'am?!" Aranea simply chuckled and gave him a look,

"Do I need to repeat myself, Rat? Get outta here."

Realizing his best shot, Prompto just nodded, "A-aye. Cap'n." With a quick salute, he turned to head below deck. Somehow, their little exchange had left him even more unsettled. What had she meant by meeting the royals? As he got down the few steps, he could make out shuffling in the cargo holds as light and shadows danced on the walls. He stepped closer.

"Ah, there ye are, lad," rose the familiar voice, probably the only one on that wretched ship that treated him kindly.

"Hardy." It wasn't a statement. Nor was it quite a question. Prompto's brows neared each other in bafflement at the awkward shuffling of fabrics far too fine for this lot to wear. "What're you guys doing?" The said man's fingers did the last three buttons of the navy uniform jacket before turning to look at him, and Prompto found himself fighting the urge to take a step back at that. It wasn't just the foreign look of the man wearing a uniform, either. There was something in the way the older man was looking at him. Something sorrowful.

The look was gone in a blink, and the man shrugged, "I dunno, kid. Captain's orders." He averted his gaze to scratch his neck, "The bloody thang itches, too."

"But, but those are Accor-!"

"I know, laddy." A large palm was laid onto his shoulder, warm, reassuring; the man offered him a kind smile, but that was shaded by the same sorrow. "Nothin' we can do about it, son. Jus' save yerself tha hassle an' do as yer told." Patting the shoulder once more, the man pushed past him, pointing his thumb over his shoulder as he passed him, towards a pile of dark blue and black fabrics on the floor. "Thay might not have yer size back there, ya lil' runt," he chuckled humorously before leaving the hold. Prompto was left staring after him for a moment before someone shoved him backwards with a grunted command to hurry the hell up unless he wanted to take a dip without a rope. Nodding hastily, the young man shrugged off his unbuttoned vest and went to look for a shirt from the pile of clothing.

* * *

"They are gonna ram us, sir!" Libertus' voice pitched as he spelled out the obvious.

"What the hell are they doing?! We're supposed to be at peace!" Noctis barked incredulously as he backed away from the oncoming sight a few steps.

"Brace for impact!" Nyx hollered over the rushing wind as he rolled the helm in a last-ditch effort to save his ship the worst of it. He heard Libertus' warning about the cannons being brought out, but his mind was on one thing only. Reaching out for long enough to grab a hold of the youth, he pulled the lightly struggling Noctis in to shield him against the helm. "Hold on, Your Highness!"

There was a roar of the cannons, and Noctis' eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. But the shocks never came; had they missed? However, from somewhere far, far away he heard the telltale sounds of splintering and grating as something was pierced. It wasn't the time to dwell on it, though. Hardly daring to even breathe, he listened how Nyx screamed out orders before a demolishing force crashed against the ship.

The force of it threw them off balance. He was crushed against the helm, air leaving him as Nyx's heavier weight landed onto his back. His legs gave out a little, and Noctis slumped against the hardwood as his vision swam. He heard grunting, hazily recognized the weight being lifted from him; there were shouts, but he couldn't discern whose. Trying to coax his limbs to move so soon felt like a wasted effort. And throughout it all, all he could think of was, 'Why?'

"Your Highness?!" Maneuvering the prince around to check him, Nyx hissed a low curse. The prince seemed fine, if a bit dazed, so at least that was something. He didn't have time to worry about the royal, though. A rain of grappling hooks was flying out of the frigate as they started pulling themselves to their side. "Shit!" Drawing his sword, he bellowed, "To arms, men! To arms! Prepare to be boarded!" As his crew picked up on that, his attention was back on the raven. "Noct?! C'mon, snap outta it, man!" he hissed under his breath as he tapped two fingers to his cheek not too gently. Slowly, recognition returned to the blue gaze as it sharpened.

"N-Nyx? What's… happening?" he mumbled a little as he straightened up.

"We're getting boarded! You need to get out of here! Go to your cabin, bar the door!"

"No! No, I'm fighting! I'm not leaving you out here!"

"Noct, listen to me. You need to stay safe! Go!"

"Like hell I will. I'll-!"

"I'm not arguing about this with you!" Nyx spat at him. From behind him, he could hear gunshots being exchanged and the fervor of the assailants as first rope swings landed onto the deck. "Hurry!"

"But Nyx, I-!"

"Noct, trust me!" Something about the way the captain looked at him made whatever arguments he had die on Noctis' tongue. "Let me protect you!"

A single nod, tight-lipped and timid was all the reply he received as the blue eyes flicked around the deck that was quickly becoming a battlefield as more men in uniforms climbed onto the vessel to join the clash.

"Alright" was nearly a whisper, but a stone fell from the captain's chest as the raven finally moved. Before he dashed, though, Noctis turned around to throw him a brief wave, "Don't die on me, Nyx." Then he was gone; Nyx's reply was muttered to himself as he faced the crowds, eyes narrowed,

"Not planning on it."

The clashing of metal and an occasional gunshot filled his ears as he allowed the adrenaline to coat his senses. Dashing into the fray, Nyx slashed at the nearest uniform, grinning a little at the satisfying cry of agony as the blue color of the satin begun to darken. There was another cry, the pitch of this voice higher than the one before, a cry of despair. He didn't have the time to dwell on it, though. In the corner of his eye, he caught Libertus fighting a tall, lanky man practically on par with him. "Dammit." He pushed through the fighting crowds in an attempt to get to him, taking a note of the number of fallen black-and-red coats, and committing that number to memory. He would take at least twice as many, single-handedly.

What he failed to notice amidst the fray, however, was a sturdy figure quietly slipping below the deck.

His lips pulled into a snarl as he lunged himself to clash swords with an assailant who tried to surprise him from behind a cargo container. Directing his attack to the side, Nyx took a shadow step to close the distance between them before grabbing a hold of the man's neck, and shoving him head-first into the container. As the form went limp for the critical second, the captain pierced his sword through the chest.

The man dropped to the ground like a stone, a low, raspy wail coming out. Ignoring the rattles of the dying man, however, Nyx dashed for his first mate. Libertus was in trouble. The navy had driven him to the corner of the foredeck, where he was not so much fighting as he was blocking the swings, and it looked like it wasn't going so well. Cursing under his breath, seeing the blade poised and knowing he wouldn't make it in time, Nyx pulled out his flintlock.

Libertus saw it happen before he heard the shot, the blood gushing out of the man as the form suddenly jerked, then slumped, the victorious snarl plastered onto the sonofabitch's face now warped into one of confusion and agony before it stilled. "Libertus!"

"I'm fine," he wiped his brow with the back of his free hand briefly as his captain reach him. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," Nyx uttered as his gaze returned to the battle. "How're we doing?"

Libertus' tone was dark as he replied, "They sunk one of the escorts. The other is… shit, the hell are those cowards doing?! Where are they?!"

"Don't blame them," Nyx cut in more calmly. "I ordered a stand-down. This is on me, Libertus. Besides, what's a gunship against a frigate?"

"At least the men," the other grunted lowly; Nyx looked at him tightly,

"Keep your mind in the game, Libertus. Noctis is safe below deck. Now we just gotta kick these assholes in the rear and-" he was interrupted by the subtle yet there shift in the air, and an instinct brought his blade up just in time to guide aside the leap strike that would have cracked his wrists if he had taken it head-on. The blue coat rolled around before quickly straightening themselves, and the men raised their blades at the look of the woman grinning death at them before their eyes.

"Hello, boys," Aranea almost purred as she raised her sword in a mockery of a greeting.

"The hell are you?!" Nyx barked, his blade also held at ready. Next to him, Libertus was fumbling at his side, but before he could pull out his gun, something glimmering flashed in the air, and the man let out a cry of stinging, raw pain.

"Well that's not a way to greet a lady, is it now?" the woman scolded, but there was amusement in her voice. Libertus' sword fell from his hand as he instinctively reached to pull out the dagger from his upper arm and clench the bleeding.

"S-sorry, boss," he hissed, taking a signaling step back. Sparing his friend a glance, Nyx brought his blade up again.

"It's fine, Libertus. You sit this one aside." His voice took a darker tone as he added, "I'm gonna skin this wench, and all the rest of them traitors." He moved fast, the sword poised low, to strike upwards. With a little grin, the woman stepped out of the way as she derailed his strike, metal sending sparks as it glided along his blade. Swinging an arm, Aranea tried to punch him, but it was avoided, Nyx skipping a few steps further, his blade held protectively across his torso.

Aranea didn't wait. A forward sting that was blocked but narrowly, before her breath escaped her as a heavy punch sunk into her gut. Staggering back, her world spinning for a moment, Aranea couldn't help gasping out at the scrape on her gun arm. Gritting her teeth, she straightened up to face the self-satisfied grin on the man's face.

She would wipe it out soon enough.

Dropping down, she slashed at his ankles, forcing the man to either jump out of the way or lose his ligaments. Anticipating his next move, she gracefully rose to meet the vertical strike half-way, the suddenty of the blade barring his again throwing him off for a second. Face to face with her opponent, it was Aranea's turn to smirk. "I never did answer you, you know," she purred. "Aranea Highwind, captain of the Siren." She gave the blade a shove, pushing him back. "Not at your service."

Nyx stumbled back a few steps, and as the sound of a blade slicing through the air again reached him, he could feel the sharp pain graze his side as his dodge was late but milliseconds. Chuckling darkly, he quickly recomposed himself as his eyes followed the woman who was now circling him like a feline. "Hmph. You fight almost like a man, 'milady'," he snorted. He saw the strike early enough to block it this time, the woman close to him again.

"Hmph. Funny. I was just about to say the same thing about you."

A gunshot sounded nearby, and wood splinters flew from the container not three inches left of Aranea. Furious eyes cut over to the source, to find the shaking arm of the first mate still pointing the smoking barrel. With a brief snarl, she leaped. Libertus brought his blade up to defend himself, but distracted by the pain in his arm, it was weaker and took Aranea only a couple of slashes to push it aside. Kicking him into the shin, then stomach, Aranea heard the 'oof' as his back met the floor, before plunging her blade through the ribcage.

"Eagh-!"

"No! Libertus!"

Smirking at the sound of that, Aranea turned back to Nyx as she pulled the blade free in a wide arc. "Now, where were we?" She noticed movement behind him, and the bright orbs flicked to the direction briefly, her smirk widening a teasing notch before she made sure to face him before the man would realize it.

Huffing heavily, Nyx's shoulders shook as he forcibly tore his gaze from the crimson now pooling beneath his friend. "You… witch! You'll pay for that!" The sounds of battle were still raging behind him, the clashing of blades and thumping of feet faint and distant to him now as he only had eyes for her. He was going to kill her, and he was going to enjoy that! He was going to do this for Libertus, for His Majesty, to avenge the insolence of these damned traitors! Lunging at her again, Nyx sliced horizontally, going for the upper body, the woman skidding back with a taken-aback look flashing over her face that just added into his bloodlust. For hers, to be exact. His voice was a hiss, "I'll kill ya."

"Oh, I don't think you will," came a gruff voice from behind his back. He would have ignored it – if it wasn't for the look of victory spreading over the woman's face as she stood down, almost as if she was certain that whatever she saw behind him…

Taking in a breath to brace himself, Nyx turned around, and he understood what the woman was on about. Truly, Nyx knew immediately that he had lost.

A tall man dressed in a finer coat of black and blue eyed him with snide. In front of him he held a lightly struggling, gagged Noctis, with a dagger held threateningly across his throat. The prince's right arm was pulled behind his back, and he tiptoed on his toes precariously, his nostrils flaring as bewildered eyes screamed at him.

"Drop it." Noctis' eyes widened at those words, and he shook his head as much as he could, a clear denial; he mumbled something earnest into the gag, but it didn't reach his friend. Nyx's teeth grit. If he obeyed, that would be the end. But what choice did he have? With a huff betraying all his frustration, all his rage, he tossed his sword to the side; it slid far out of his reach. His snarl widened, despite him trying not to let it show what the look of disappointment in Noctis' eyes did to him.

"Let him go."

"Call your men off," Wedge grunted back, ignoring the demand, pulling Noctis tighter against his chest. "Or your prince will be a head shorter before he knows it." Noctis let out a muffled meep as the dagger pressed against his skin.

Nyx was fuming inside as he stood frozen, engaged in a staring contest with the bulky man. Behind him, he heard a grating sound as Aranea sheathed her sword. As if to rub it in. "Hurry up, kid," Wedge growled at him. And hating himself, every fiber in his body tense and on the edge, Nyx gave out the bitter order,

"Stand down! Everybody, lower your weapons!" Begrudgingly, he had to repeat that a couple of times before his men begun to believe that their captain was serious, that they were actually surrendering to Accordo. Slowly, a clang after another sounded when swords met the deck, and the blue coats begun to usher the Lucians into a group. Nyx eyed all this with disdain and dread. Whatever happened to his men, their blood would be on his hands. He had ordered the stand-down, he had had them unprepared. Noctis might have deemed Accordo trustworthy, but it had been him who had accepted that, who had given the order. As guilt wrenched his heart already, Nyx knew that this would haunt him forever. His voice like acid, he turned to the first mate, "Satisfied?"

Sparing him a victorious grin, Wedge seeked out Aranea, "Orders, cap'n?" Aranea held her arms crossed over her chest as her gaze went over it all, looking like a cat eyeing a wounded mouse.

"Bring them."

* * *

Prompto's heart raced in his chest as the sounds of battle raged around him. His eyes flicking around almost frantically, he pressed his back tighter against the shielding wood. The battle seemed to have moved further up the forecastle; only a few combatants were fighting towards the rear of the ship, including Hardy. He was really going at it, too. Prompto found himself admiring the man a little; for someone of his age, Hardy was not bad. Not bad at all. He was trickstery in his swings, and age really hadn't slowed him down.

The blond jumped a little at the sudden sound of dashing footsteps coming down the short flight of stairs from the helm deck; there was a black shadow rushing towards the crowd before the saw the slash, and heard the cry.

"Hardy!"

Not thinking, Prompto jumped out from his cover as he saw the man sinking to the floor, the dark man that had done this spurring further down the deck. Reaching him in a few leaps, Prompto was instantly on his knees, turning the man onto his back. "Hardy?!" Shit, the stain was spreading fast…! "Hardy?!" Prompto's heart jumped at the flicker of recognition in the dark eyes as they met his, the man's mouth twitching a little as if he had tried to smile. The old lips parted to say something, but it was cut off by a fit of coughing. Droplets of blood fell onto the jacket.

"Shit, Hardy, don't… don't speak. Save your strength," Prompto muttered as he tore the fabric from the gash – and had to stifle a gasp at the sight of that. It was deep, just below his ribcage. Pressing both hands onto the wound, Prompto tried not to pay attention to the sticky feeling. "It's gonna be alright, Hardy, you… you'll be fine," he muttered, but wasn't sure if it was more to himself than the man lying before him.

Hardy had gone still, a strangely serene expression on his face, only occasionally disturbed by the pain. "Le… leave it, laddy," he made a gesture to shove his hands off. "Ge' back in tha cove'. This… this's not yer fight."

"You nuts?!" Prompto's voice broke a little. "But you-"

Hardy shook his head, wincing, "There… ain't nothin' to do fer me anymore, lad. Go."

"But-"

The dark eyes were cloudy as they looked at him, a pained smile flashing over his features before falling still again, "Be… be safe, m'boy." Then, the man went limp, and Prompto could feel him leaving. Before the man slipped away, the blond managed to choke out,

"I-I will!"

And then he was gone. The empty body in his arms, Prompto breathed deep as his eyes burned. As he sat there staring at his reddened fingers, an ember inside him flickered and fulminated, and his teeth grit in a whole new way. That man! That shadow of black and red, where was he?! For the first time ever, Prompto felt like he really wanted to kill something. To avenge this! The blue eyes scanned the mayhem, spotting the man in the foredeck. And then his eyes went to the movement above them, and a silent gasp of awe left him. The captain. That shadow of a man was fighting the captain!

He was snapped out of it as he heard the sounds of thumping and struggling, coming closer. They seemed to come from below. Eyes darted between the doorway, the safety of his hiding place and the clash of blades in the distance. _'Be safe.'_ His decision made, Prompto grunted as he pushed himself up and dived behind the stacked barrels as the low echo of people coming up the stairs reached him.

From his relative safety, Prompto watched keenly how the men emerged into the fading daylight. Wedge was with someone, and by the looks of it, it wasn't exactly of their own volition. As the bulky man shoved the other to walk in front of him, Prompto caught a glimpse, and the blood froze in his veins.

He had only ever seen him in paintings, and once from afar, at a May Day fair the royal family had participated in person a year ago. But Prompto recognized Prince Noctis in a flash as the bound from was forced to walk, a sliver of pain crossing his features at something Wedge did to him.

He couldn't breathe. As the pair distanced themselves from him, his knees gave out and he slumped to sit in the ground. They hadn't just plundered a ship, they had attacked a royal courier. This wasn't a ransack, this was treason. The guise of Accordo wouldn't protect them, they would hang for this! The royal navy would rake the seas over and around until they found them. He felt cold, he was shuddering. He wanted to not be, at least not here.

It took a moment to realize that the sounds of battle had ceased, replaced by the first rejoicing cheers from somewhere further up the deck. Was it over? He felt like smacking himself; of course, it was. It had been over the minute Wedge had gotten his hands on the prince. Now he understood what they had come for. The why didn't matter, he wouldn't be told that kind of thing anyway. But the prince… he gulped; he would make a nice souvenir.

The next few minutes were a blur. He had climbed out of his hiding place at the sound of planks being set between the ships, and dragging steps moving along the deck. Orders had been shouted, both the ladycaptain as well as other voices he didn't recognize. He remembered obeying, but it had been like he had been trudging through fog. They had returned to the ship – the living, he had realized only as the planks were already being tossed into the sea, and a longing gaze was thrown at the limp form of blue lying on the deserted deck – and the crew had tied the captives to the masts, all except two. The prince – and the black and red shadow man.

Prompto finally snapped out of it as a tremendous booming sound shook him down to his very core, and the night sky was lit up with the pillar of fire as the royal courier went sky-high.


	3. First Impressions

**AN: Thank you all for the warm welcome this has received so far! ^..^ Your feedback is so motivating. *heart***

 **Now, this. Truly, I loved writing Noctis in this chapter. Usually I actually have a bit of a trouble with his character, I find him the most difficult to write credibly. But somehow the no powers AU is doing wonders to that. Please don't ask me how that works. :D**

 **No official mood song for this, but if you wanna, check out "Grainne Mhaol, Queen of Pirates" or "Beneath the Black Flag", both by Miracle of Sound. He makes pwnsome music overall.  
**

 **Also, a fair word of** **warning** **, there will be more character death in this chapter.**

 **Beta read by Elillierose again. Thank you kindly! o..o**

* * *

2 – First Impressions

"Get your hands off me!" His shoulders ached, but he struggled anyway. His eyes stung, _stung_ , and the faint aroma of copper on his tongue only fueled the fire. Throwing frustrated growls at the scoundrels holding him as he thrashed his head, Noctis did his damndest to tear himself free from the hold, ignoring the curses and the demands for the little devil to stay still. Like hell he would! Reaching as far behind as he could, teeth sank into an arm restraining his.

"Aaugh!"

Noctis snorted lowly at the satisfying sound before he felt himself being yanked up. "You… little sonofabitch! I'm gonna bleed ya!" the scruffy-looking man with crooked teeth and a broken nose hissed into his face. He felt a sting over his pulse, the cold kiss of metal again, and stilled his flailing, resulting to glare hot daggers at the wretched sight.

"I'd like to see you try," the raven snarled through grit teeth.

"Why, you…!"

"Gentlemen!"

Noctis noted how the man's eyes widened a little at the sound of the bright voice carrying a note of irritation. After another second, the steel was gone, and he let out a restrained breath. The man cast him one last spiteful glare, which the raven returned wholeheartedly, before stepping away from him.

The crowd that had gathered around him parted, and from behind them emerged the ladycaptain, now wearing a knee-length, sun-kissed leather coat instead of the navy blue satin, complete with a wide-brimmed hat with a feather décor. Wind threw the silvery locks over her face a little as she approached him, arms crossed over her chest and a certain lightness in her step, carefreeness of a victor. She sauntered closer, reflections of the torches gleaming in the dark jewels as she stopped to admire him amusedly. Behind her crept that brute, the man grinning at him disgustingly. Noctis drew in an angry breath, his smoldering eyes fixed on the woman.

Aranea chuckled a little as she ran a hand down the boy's hair and cheek, ignoring the youth's attempts to jerk his face away. Swiftly and without a warning, she grabbed his chin forcefully, drawing out a small gasp; her nails dug into skin as she forced him to look at her. "Welcome, Your Highness, onto the Siren," she mused sardonically. A low chorus of whistles and raspy laughter sounded from the crew; Noctis had bared his teeth as he snarled, his voice pure fury,

"You… you won't get away with this, you… animal! How could you do that?!" He spat at her; time seemed to slow down as the crowd stirred.

"Cap'n!"

"You lil'…!"

Motioning the men to stand back, Aranea's tightening gaze never left the youth's as it bore into the intense blue, not even when her free hand calmly wiped the spittle off her chin. She held the heated contact with ease, taking a note of the redness that rimmed his moist orbs. She hadn't expected the boy to be that caring. But the prince had cracked, crumbled even when he was forced to witness his men being executed right before his eyes. And the tall, handsome one… the two must have been close, the prince had really thrown a fit when it had been his turn. What was the name the kid had screamed again, Neil? Nate? …Nyx. That's the one. Screaming his throat raw, the prince had begged and pleaded, all pride cast aside he had cried out for her to spare him.

" _Please!" Noctis' voice broke at the sting in his pipe. How could they do this?! He wanted to throw up. The ice in Nyx's eyes had softened as he gazed at the royal desperately. Hands bound behind his back, his chest rose and fell rapidly with shuddery, panicked pants. "Not him! Leave him alone!"_

" _Hmm?" The curiosity in that deceptively sweet tone was stomach-turning as Aranea held her hand up to halt the executioner. "What's this?"_

 _Noctis didn't spare her even a glance. His attention solely on Nyx's fearful face, Noctis almost wished that their roles were reversed. It was because of him that all this had happened: they were in this mess simply because he had wanted to trust Accordo! It was his fault! And now Nyx was paying for his screw-up. It wasn't fair, it should have been him! He wanted it to be him. "Please, not him! Anything, just… please!"_

 _Narrow eyebrows rose in surprise before a Cheshire Cat look spread over the ladycaptain's face, and she motioned to the first mate subtly. A slight jerk of the head was all it took for the man to mutter an 'understood' before he stomped over to the kneeling man. Shooing the crew member away, Wedge hauled Nyx onto his feet._

" _What're you doing?!" Noctis demanded, his voice breaking a little. "What're you doing to him?!"_

 _Aranea didn't look at him; her eyes were glued onto the struggling form as Wedge dragged him along until they met the railing. Her mouth a thin line and brows a bit furrowed, she finally turned to the desperate-looking youth – and her lips cracked a sinister smirk._

 _The bulky man's eyes held a wicked glint as he spoke, "Do ya know wha' makes a great cap'n, kid?" He held a pause, and Noctis gasped in bewilderment. "A cap'n goes down with his ship." And Wedge pushed him over._

" _Nooo! Nyx!" He heard the scream, it was cut off by the splash. Noctis' blood froze in his veins, his breath caught in his throat. "No! No… Nyx! Let go of me, you bastards! Nyx!" Struggling wildly, Noctis peered into the direction where he presumed him to be, the intense gaze seemingly trying to burn a hole into the wood blocking his line of sight. "Nyx…" Then, the piercing fire turned to the enjoyment dancing in the pair of the woman's. "You'll pay for this! All of you! The gallows are too good for you scum!" He would watch her die screaming, and he wouldn't stop there. Every single one of them, Noctis promised to himself, every single one of these assholes would burn!_

 _The ladycaptain simply smiled at him._

Aranea's grip on the youth's chin tightened, and Noctis gasped out a soft whimper. "Won't get away?" she deadpanned. Then, slowly, her lips cracked that despicable smile again, "Oh, but I think I already have, Highness. Or should I say, 'late Highness'."

Noctis hadn't liked the certainty in her tone. "The hell's that supposed to mean?" he spat.

Aranea scoffed lightly. She ran a hand down his hair again in a mock caress before cupping his chin. "Hmnh. In about three days, the escort ship will reach Insomnia. That's when your father's gonna receive the tragic news of your death when your ship was sunk by Accordo," she took delight in watching how the words sunk. "How do you think he's gonna take it?" She waited to see the understanding dawn, "What do you think it's gonna do to that little peace treaty of yours?"

"So, don't bother wishing for daddy dearest to come the rescue, Your Highness," she purred dangerously. "You're officially dead."

Noctis felt like his insides were slowly turning to stone. "Why?! Yo-you're not Accordon, are you? Who the hell are you people?" he hissed venomously. The captain wasn't fazed by that cold fire blazing in the young eyes. This boy's wouldn't be the first spirit she broke. She would take her time, she had plenty. Chuckling deep in the back of her throat, Aranea didn't answer him; instead, she let go off him and stepped back, arms crossing over her chest again, and with a flick of a wrist, she motioned for the men, "Take him away."

"What?! Hey, wait-! We're not done here!" Noctis thrashed as two men began to drag him away. "Answer me!"

Aranea paid his demands no heed; as the bull-headed youth was forced below deck, the ladycaptain crossed the deck over to a small pigeon coop, and cooing quietly, she reached to take out a grey bird. She ran her fingers gently along its feathers before the digits found a rolled piece of paper from the folds of her coat. She slipped it into the small tube attached to the bird's leg, and gave it a soft kiss on the head before tossing it into flight.

* * *

Noctis' hands scraped against the rough planks as he was thrown down. From behind him, he could hear the signifying 'clack', and turned to shoot a dirty glare at the men – pirates! These were fucking pirates! Scum, all of them! The men snorted amongst themselves before they turned to leave, with a sneered wish for 'his high-ass to enjoy his new quarters'. Noctis slammed his fist against the bars, the satisfying clang following the men out of the cargo hold. His shoulders shook with trembling exhales; the prince cursed under his breath as he panged his head against the metal. "Shit! Shit, shit…"

There, the cold kiss of his imprisonment on his forehead, the weight of his predicament crashed over him in full. His heart sunk, and he slowly slid down to his knees, his forehead still pressed against the metal; his breaths grew wet as near-silent sobs mixed into the shaky wheezes. Nyx. Nyx was gone. A bile rose into his mouth at the thought of the man's fate, and instinctively he clasped a hand over his mouth as he dry-heaved into his mouth a little. It had been his fault. If he hadn't talked him into this…! God, he couldn't finish it; Noctis' teeth grit in a silent snarl. "Nyx… Nyx, I'm sorry!" 'Can you forgive me?'

It had been horrible. He couldn't stop the images of the fear and panic written all over his friend's face just before… a muffled sound of disgust escaped under the shudder that ravaged him. How could they do that?! It was like Nyx's anguish had become his own as he surrendered to his grief. Screaming wordlessly into the surrounding darkness, he let it consume him, come out in strangled sobs as his nails dragged small markings into the boards.

He stilled to heave heavy breaths, in and out, as his voice finally failed him. Shoulders slumped, the man leaned his weight against the bars. The blue eyes cracked open, his gaze traveling around the stacks of cargo and the empty walls. Above him, hasty steps stomped the deck; miniscule clouds of sawdust rained down over him. Only halfway seriously, he tested the metal again, only resulting in another frustrated grunt at the empty – piercing, enslaving – 'clank' the latch made. "Perfect!" he huffed, smacking the structure in another fit of rage.

He was truly, _royally_ screwed. Stuck out on the ocean on a hostile ship, alone and on his way to god knows where, Noctis realized he really was out of options. A hand enclosed around the bar, the man slumped backwards to lean his back against the cage. His breaths were shuddery, on the brink of despair as his throat clenched. The captain's words rung in his head like a plague bell.

He was presumed dead. Or would be, before long. The thought about his father being told made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He would be devastated, Noctis knew. Maybe… maybe he couldn't handle it. His father was in poor health; maybe… the news of his death would be too much? A hiss of pain left him. And even in the best case, if the king believed that Accordo had broken the cease fire, and killed his son, it would only mean one thing. He sighed deep at that. Lucis couldn't take any more. Give it another six months or so, and Noctis feared that he would no longer have a home to return to if the fighting resumed. His jaw tightened again; he swore, he would get out of here, and he would make these assholes pay and then, he would go home. Assuming there still was a home left to go back to. Letting his head lull back against the unforgiving iron, Noctis' eyes slid closed against the moisture that threatened to spill. His chest ached, felt like it was caving in from the inside.

It had been a perfect set up. Another shaky breath got out, and the prince drew his knees to his chest to reap at least a little comfort from the gesture. It had been a trap, Noctis understood it too late. These people, he didn't think they were Accordon at all. Slave traders, maybe. Or pirates. Cut-throats and murderers. And they had attacked them on a plan. Using the Accordon guise to stage the island nation for a coup. It had been thorough – and so horribly on point. The failure of the peace negotiations would undoubtedly result into resumed hostilities between the nations. 'Their point exactly,' Noctis thought bitterly. He just couldn't understand, why?! He could simply gather the results. A relapse of war, and the diplomatic relations to Accordo severed. His home nation would sink deeper into the abyss until it would fall. And Lucis would fall, it was only a matter of time. Telling himself otherwise would have been a lie.

"Dad…" he mouthed into the darkness. His only reply was the low creaking of the boards and the thumping of feet somewhere above him.

He sat there in silence for a long while. Perhaps he had drifted off a little, for when he next recognized movement, it seemed to come from somewhere close. Now that he thought about it, the sounds from above had ceased, too. Had the crew retired for the night? Had he not heard them come down?

There was a slight cough behind his back that made him jump. Scurrying to spin around, the raven locked eyes with a scrawny-looking blond boy who stood timidly a few yards from him. He held something. A surge of rage rushed through him again, and the prince spat, "What're you lookin' at?!" The blond didn't flinch, but his eyes squinted a little; he regained his composure quickly, though, and stepped up, ignoring the venomous glare the raven threw at him at the action.

"I, uh, thought you'd be hungry, Your Highness." Noctis blinked at the tone; a dark eyebrow rose judgingly. He hadn't expected the voice to sound so… mature. The kid was lithe, he looked like he was still in his teens. And, what's with the title?

"Fuck off," he scoffed, his voice dripping detest as he turned away sulkily. Nevertheless, soon he heard the low steps coming closer, followed by the quiet clatter of the wooden plate against the floorboard, and Noctis couldn't help glancing at the mushy-looking meal before raising a brow at the other. It was then that he got a better look at the man – indeed he was a man rather than a boy, you could see it better up close. Narrow face but high cheekbones, full eyelids that gave him a bit sluggish impression. The blond hair clung to his temples haphazardly. The shades under the sky blue eyes spoke of exhaustion. Scoffing, he shrugged stubbornly as he turned away from him again.

Noctis heard a soft snort from above him, and he had to suppress the sudden, curious urge to turn back towards the sound. It hadn't been snide or vehement, it had sounded almost sorrowful. The presence turned on his heels, and Noctis made sure to count the steps as they left, noting the halt and a small shuffling sound before they finally walked out of the hold. "The hell's with that guy?" he muttered to himself lowly.

* * *

He pitied him. As Prompto listened to the prince's struggles, all for naught, regret and guilt ate at him at each enraged insult. Sitting on a water barrel towards the back of the savagely eager crowd, Prompto's eyes slid closed at the sound of the captain's voice.

This wasn't right. Everything, everything about this was so horribly wrong. Prompto had had to look away when the soldiers had been sat down on line; hands behind their backs; their fearful gazes jumping around wildly; hearing it happen to others merely moments before it was their own turn... It had made him sick to his stomach. It wasn't like Prompto had never seen it before; on the contrary, he hated the sight of it. But the prince had watched it happen. He couldn't begin to imagine what it must have been like. He remembered him screaming, begging for their lives. He snorted quietly, a sound void of humor or merriment. Funny. Prompto had never expected a royal to be so… empathetic. He had always thought them to be proud, distant rulers, sitting in their towers of gold and ivory, all high and mighty, and not giving a shit about the common folk. But the raven had begged. He had screamed and he had pleaded, all because he had tried to save them, his men. The blond sighed deep; this prince must have had a good heart. Somehow, it made this sin even worse.

He had watched, though, when the shadow man had been hoisted to his feet, and dragged along. Knowing what that meant before it had happened, Prompto remembered wanting it. Remembered waiting for the moment the man would realize what was going happen to him; he had wanted to see it, the look on his face. This fuck had killed Hardy! He had deserved it. But - a small shiver ran him through at the recollection - but the prince…!

He had sounded so broken. Hearing the man cry out the name had made Prompto ashamed of himself. What was wrong with him? How could he, even for a moment, enjoy something like that?! It made him just the same as the rest of these vultures. Hadn't it been just the same, when Hardy had died, the loss and the abandonment? And the fury in the prince's voice, when he had promised them a fate worse than the gallows… Prompto had known it hadn't been idle. The prince was dead-serious, and eventually, it was him who was going to end up dead.

It was a sad sight, the way their "guest" sat slumped against the bars that ripped him of his freedom. He could hear the light snores, and an inkling of a smile tugged his lip up into a sloppy, sad grin. At least he still had his dreams. Prompto… he had lost even those. The blue gaze drifted downwards to his untouched dinner, and he gulped quietly. It wouldn't be much, hell, maybe the prince wouldn't even try it – but it was the right thing to do. Not wanting to scare him, Prompto coughed lightly before he stepped closer.

The prince almost bolted at the sound. Spinning around, Prompto found himself looking into the eyes of a wild animal, furious and alarmed as he felt the gaze study him before the man scoffed, then, "What're you lookin' at?!" His throat clenched a little at the tone. It wasn't like he didn't get yelled at almost every day, but the pure, unfiltered hate in the prince's voice made him squirm from the inside. Forcing the lump down, however, Prompto inhaled through his nose. 'He's just upset,' he told himself. 'He has every right to be.'

"I, uh, thought you'd be hungry, Your Highness." A taken-aback look came over his features, much of that vehemence melting away with the doubtful eyebrow raise the man gave him. It was gone quickly, though,

"Fuck off" was accentuated with a dismissing jerk of the dark head, and the prince turned his back to him. Well, what had he expected, anyway? For the prince to shower him with thank yous and praises of how he was the only sensible one of this lot? The reaction did sting him, but he had come this far. He wouldn't back away now. Taking the first determined step closer, the next ones coming much easier, Prompto sat the plate next to the iron bars, close enough for him to reach it. His heart skipped a beat as the obsidian gaze turned to meet his again, and he could feel the calculating eyes scanning him over, assessing him, contemplating on his gesture.

He wasn't sure why it hurt as much as it did when the prince again just scoffed and turned away, signaling that this little meeting was over and that he wasn't going to acknowledge him again. Somehow it felt like a failure. At what, he wasn't quite sure, but before he could stop it, it had already come out as a disappointed little sound. He caught the slight shudder, though, the stir it caused in the other, and he realized he was on the verge of something. He was angry, yes, and scornful, but at least Prompto had gotten him curious.

It was a start.

The raven said nothing more, and Prompto took the silence as his cue. He hadn't touched the meal, not that he had exactly expected him to, but he offered him the chance of privacy. Turning towards the doorway, Prompto walked out faster than he had come in, but a tug in his heart strings had him stop almost dead on his tracks, and turn to look at their newest addition one last time. He couldn't see the face, the prince still sitting hunched over, his back pressed against the bars. But he could almost taste the rage and misery pouring out of him, almost tangible, like a cloud around him. It made a bad taste rise into his mouth. With one more hard-earned inhale, Prompto got out of the cargo hold before he choked on his own guilt.

Behind the doorframe leading towards the crew's quarters, hefty eyebrows furrowed as they listened how the blond's hasty steps skipped the stairs up two at a time until they faded into the night above. A curious pair of eyes sneaked a peek around his cover corner, to see the prince picking up the plate, and a low, thoughtful grunt rumbled in his throat. Stepping out from his hiding place, Wedge didn't bother giving the raven a heads-up. "How's the cage treatin' ya, 'highness'?" his voice was drenched with sarcasm. Noctis almost dropped the plate at the sudden sound, the spoon clattering onto the wood as it slipped from his fingers when he spun towards the new voice. A dark scowl settled onto the handsome features at the recognition.

"You…!"

Wedge chuckled dismissively. What's the prince gonna do, glare him to death? Locked up and unarmed, he was in no position to intimidate him, and he knew the prince knew that too. Sauntering to the cell, the man leaned his weight against the bars languidly, his eyes locked with the fury of the youth. "Ya better enjoy that while ya can," he motioned towards the barely touched food. "Ya neva know when ya gonna get the next one."

Seeing the coming punch early enough, Wedge countered by grabbing the wrist; Noctis gave out a surprised little yelp as he was pulled forcibly against the iron bars, "Ah?!" His upper body held against the metal again, he glared daggers at the amused look in the brown eyes.

"A word of advice, 'highness'," he hissed into his face dangerously. "Ya behave yarself now, or ya'll find yar stay a lot less enjoyable. Ya see, if ya insist bein' a piss in the boot, well, that's jus' whatcha gonna be."

Jerking his arm free, the raven staggered back a step and snarled, "Leave me alone!"

Wedge's arms crossed over his chest as he chuckled, "Oh, but ya' highness... ya are alone."

* * *

 **AN2: Yep. I did it. I killed Nyx. T.T But unfortunately he needed to die for the greater drama to start rolling later in this story. And I wanted to make it at least a little memorable; after all, it is a pirate story, so if it made you cringe at least a little, I guess I've done alright, haha.**

 **Apologies in advance, but the next update on Leviathan's Fin is probably gonna take a while, like a couple weeks maybe. I'll be working a lot, and I've got a pretty intense larp coming this weekend. So excited for that, though! ö..ö Plus, I wanna work on Life of a Tool a little in between, lol. It's supposed to be my main quest atm, not this, haha. Fun as this is, lol.**

 **See you guys later!**


	4. Grim News

**AN: Yaaay, more Fin! This chapter, finally featuring other familiar faces. ^^ Sorry it took a while, I've been writing Life of a Tool. I mean to finish that some time soon-ish, so it takes priority.**

 **So, who's been playing the Ignis DLC? Haha, I never saw the trailers for it - I wasn't prepared, lol. And I've had this sweet idea about that one revolving since June, and I'm pretty excited to see what's gonna come out of that. But now, let's go on with this.**

 **Beta read by Elillierose**

* * *

3 - Grim News

The Royal Palace, Insomnia

The flames licked the hearth's inner walls, the warm caress lighting up his features as the Marshall Cor Leonis rubbed his hands gently to work up the circulation in the digits. He shivered a little despite the warmth of the fire, as the relentless chill of the cold humidity crept under the heavy layers of satin the man was wearing.

Groaning a little, he straightened up, a hand reflexively pressing onto the jabbing ache in his lower back at the action. Leaning to the opposite side, the Marshall gave it a good stretch, a small frown of discomfort settling over his features at the delicious burning pull in his muscles. As the pain subsided slightly, the Marshal turned on his heel to step back to his desk, and with a small sigh of comfort, settled himself back into his seat.

On the broad table laid a stack of maps, documents and reports filed by his men. A hand reached out for the small glass by the side; the harsh burn of whiskey left behind a trail of warm tingles, and the Marshall hissed out appreciatively before grabbing a hold of the few top-most sheets of his pile, and got to it.

He didn't get far before there was a fierce knock behind his door.

' _Lord Marshall?!'_

The suddenty, as well as the panicky air, of the sound made him visibly flinch as he was jerked out of his reverie. He hadn't been expecting anyone. Annoyed, his voice came out closer to a bark than the man would have preferred, "Yes?!"

The person behind the door didn't waste time before the door was pushed open with surprising determination. Cor's eyebrow rose as he studied the chubby man tightly. He looked nervous, and yet in a hurry, and the soldier almost forgot to greet the Marshall as he stepped closer. "Lord Marshal!" the man offered him a salute, one that Cor replied halfheartedly. The man had piqued his curiosity: whatever he was on about, it had him on the edge.

"Leave the pleasantries, Lieutenant. What's the matter?" Cor laid down the papers and sat up straight in his chair. He could read the alarm all over the other's body language; it had his blood heating up as his heart beat faster.

The man hesitated for a split second before he forced out, his voice stuttering a little, "A-an escort ship of Hi-his Highness Prince Noctis' convoy has returned, Sir."

It was the unvoiced message in that that had the alarm bells going off in the back of the Marshall's mind. "What do you mean, an escort has returned? What of the convoy?!" he demanded tightly, his palms pressing onto the hardwood as he leaned forward. A sickening fear pooled in his gut already at the implications. The soldier looked squirmy as his stormy eyes pinned him to the spot. "Out with it, soldier!"

The man gulped, his gaze jumping back and forth before he took a deep breath to tell him that, "His… His Highness Prince Noctis is… is dead, milord. His ship was sunk by Accordo."

The Marshall knocked his solid-oak chair over when he jumped up, his hands slamming against the table. "What?!" Raw, unfiltered shock twisted his features. "Sunk?! How?!" he spat, but didn't wait for an answer before he added, "Has anyone… has the death been confirmed?"

The lieutenant glanced away briefly, as if to think how to word the news to his enraged commander. "The… the ship was destroyed completely as the powder kegs exploded, Sir." He held a breath-long pause. "There were no survivors."

"No survivo…" Cor's barely audible whisper died on his lips as the words sunk. Eyes wide, his shaking fist clutched the paper sheets. His insides had turned to stone, his lungs burned in need of the forgotten inhale. "What happened out there, Lieutenant?" With a hesitant glance around, the man told him everything, the Marshall's expression tightening a notch at every added detail.

The lieutenant's shoulders had slumped. "Orders, Lord Marshall?" he finally asked grimly. Gulping, the addressed man forced himself to stand; stepping out from behind his desk, kicking his chair out of his way, he demanded,

"Who reported this?"

"The commanding officer of the escort ship, Sir. One Horatio Greaves by name, milord."

"Bring him to me, this instant," the Marshall ground out as he straightened his collar, then threw his jacket on.

"And you, milord?" the soldier sounded a bit concerned.

"What does it look like?!" the Immortal barked, the tone telling the other to get out of his sight. "I'm going to inform the court. Now, move it, for Six's sake!"

At that, he was out of the door, leaving the soldier behind to gather his bearings a little before he, too, abandoned the room.

* * *

Ignis Scientia's lips stretched into a genuine smile, and he gently ran his thumb over the neat decorations of the goblet he held on his palm, the foot of it snugly between his fingers. Comfortably sat on his armchair, the book open in front of him, Ignis took a generous sip of his wine as he turned the page.

He spurt the liquor out as the door to his private quarters was thrown open. "Lord Scientia!" the Marshall's roaring voice boomed from the door as he slammed it shut behind him, not waiting for an invitation to come in before stomping closer.

Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, an irritated scowl was audible in the royal adviser's tone as his cold emeralds cut over; the book was laid down. "Good evening, High Lord Marshall. What seems to be the emergency, for you to trash into my private quarters at such an hour?"

Really not in the mood for the man's antics, Cor stomped inside, and slamming a hand down onto the adviser's delicate coffee table, causing the flimsy structure to rattle with the force of it, his eyes were ablaze as he almost snarled, "Cut the crap, Scientia! You think I'd come here just to see your pansy ass?! I just received the word. The prince, he... he's dead!"

The wine glass was dropped with a hollow clinking sound, the red staining the stone tiles and trickling along it slowly. A ghastly image that had the adviser's breath hitching. Ignis' eyes were unnaturally wide behind his narrowly rimmed glasses, his skin had washed into a more ashen shade. His lower lip trembled a little before he found his voice again, "Hi… His Highness is what?" It was almost a whisper, an utterance so low it was barely audible, but the other man heard him anyway. The room had fallen deathly quiet, only disturbed by the sounds of the fire rattling, and Ignis' breaths hitching.

"It seems so," Cor nodded grimly, not looking at the flabbergasted youth. "Accordo pissed us in the eye! They attacked the convoy, open water. The powder kegs went up, and Noctis-" he hissed furiously, the words like whips slicing into the adviser's mind. Cor's hand was in his hair, tugging it just a little too strongly. He pulled it out, then ran it through the locks again, this time settling to grip the back of his neck. And it was the sound of collapsing that finally tore his attention from the patterned wallpaper he had been staring for a while already.

The adviser sat on the ground in a crumbled heap, leaning onto his hands to support his upper body, looking like he was moments from throwing up. His shoulders rose and fell along with panting breaths, the clouded gaze lingered on a spot on the ground. His mouth hung open, lips moving but all that came out was unintelligent, intermittent utterings and breathless gasps. It was like a dark haze had descended upon him, his misery pouring out of the man as the pants grew more haggard, wet, shuddery. The Immortal sighed out in frustration, throwing his eyes around a little.

Cutting the distance in a few long leaps, Cor dropped himself to crouch in front of the panicking man, and grabbing his shoulder firmly, gave it a strong jerk. Slowly, Ignis' moist eyes rose to meet his, unfocused and lost, and the Marshall let out a huff. "Pull yourself together" was hissed into his face, pain behind the words. Neither of them had time for this, not now. The grieving would have to be for later. He clasped his hand to the back of the adviser's head now, and gave it what he hoped to be a reassuring tug, urging him to get back onto his feet. And gulping back his emotions, Ignis' jades brightened up again, and nodding a little, his shaky hand clasped over the Marshall's. He nodded again, equally small but a bit steadier.

"Of course," the bespectacled man whispered. "Forgive me," he uttered as he tapped the hand to signal that it was alright to let go now. With a small snort of approval, the older let go of him and went to help him up, but Ignis raised a hand to show that we wanted to be left to handle himself. Pushing himself onto his feet again, Ignis went to clean his glasses as the Marshall backed away a few steps to give the adviser some space. "Now," Ignis uttered, as close to nonchalance as he could fake, as he put his glasses back on. Taking a deep breath, the finger found its place between the lenses, and he turned back to the Marshall, "Tell me everything."

Cor relayed him the news, not leaving anything out. The adviser's lips were a thin line, one hand folded across his chest to support the other, a forefinger massaging his chin gently as his mind raced. "So, you're assuming the negotiations having been a facade all along then, Lord Marshall?" he asked, voice grimly empty. The said man nodded, not looking at his company.

"I find it as hard to believe as you do, kid," he huffed out, downing a generous sip of the wine he had helped himself to. "But there are witnesses. The bastards sailed under the wave flag, wore the Altissian uniforms. Rammed them straight."

"His Highness' ship?" His reply was a stiff nod and an affirmative grunt.

"With your permission, Marshall, I would like to meet this officer Greaves myself, as well as the other witnesses if you may."

"By all means, kid, meet 'em. Have a Six-damned dinner if it suits you," Cor snapped at him suddenly, throwing his arm up into the air. "Just, what do you think you're gonna get out of it, Scientia?" The junior had fallen silent, watching him keenly, but there was challenge in the jade eyes.

"Has anyone actually seen a body?" Ignis demanded lowly, looking a lot like a snarling beast despite his composed air. Cor understood what the adviser was on about, though, and rolled his eyes, shrugging his arms in cluelessness.

"Forget it, kid. He's gone. The ship went splinters. No-one can survive that. And even if he did, by some miracle, make it, the water would have..." the words came out in a slur before fading out, just out with them, and it was almost like the Marshall had only then realized their meaning, for he looked almost scared all of a sudden, shame and loss twisting his features as he turned his eyes away from the other.

Ignis looked at him with borderline hostility. "Well then, Lord Marshall. Surely you won't mind if I'll look into this matter on my own behalf then," he spoke, almost hissed as the grief constipated his airway.

Cor just shrugged helplessly. "Suit yourself."

"But of course," the adviser's tone was close to a sneer. Then, as if to chase something away, Ignis cleared his throat a little before asking, now more consolingly, "Does His Majesty know yet?" Again, just a shake of a dark head, and a grunt. "I see… what are you going to tell him, Marshall?"

"The truth." It was decorless and straightforward, like the man himself. Not looking at Ignis, the Marshall stood as the image of determination as he stared at the far wall, without a doubt imagining the conversation he was about to have with his liege.

"But it's not necessarily-" Ignis started.

"It is the truth, dammit!" Cor barked at him, a fist slamming onto a table as the blazing eyes snapped back to the stubborn brunet. Ignis found himself backing away subconsciously as the Immortal closed the distance in a few aggressive steps. The man was like a contained storm, just waiting to be unleashed, and Ignis found himself wanting to step out of that fury's way.

Cor grabbed his collar to pull him close. "A piece of advice, _adviser_ ," he spat out the title. "You can tell yourself whatever fairytale stories you wanna believe in, kid. You wanna think he's not dead, then do. But you'd better make sure none of it never makes it to the king's ears, you hear?!" he snarled, and Ignis suddenly felt the strongest urge to tear himself free from the grasp and run. But he was pulled an inch closer, the heat radiating from the Marshall making his cheeks warm up, too. "I don't give a shit about a lot of the little affairs you run around here, Scientia, but this…! His son is dead, kid. And Regis will have to deal with that. And you'd better not be feeding him any hope when there is none." Cor eyed him vehemently, and involuntarily Ignis shrunk under that scrutiny. After a while, he was pushed away, the Marshall straightening his jacket. "We're gonna inform the court of the passing of the prince," he told him with finality in his tone. "And I believe it's due for the king to decide how to proceed with Accordo." He eyed the youth tightly, as if to say, 'is this understood'.

Massaging his collarbone lightly, Ignis cast a dark glare at the man, "Understood."

"And it'd better be," Cor pointed one last judgmental finger at his junior before shrugging, the hostility draining from his demeanor a little. He sighed, then, "Now, the king must be told. And while I'd rather do it by myself…" he left it open, but Ignis could read the intention behind it.

"I understand, Marshall," he nodded, pushing his glasses up as he eyed him with a degree of disdain concealed under the formal facade. "I shall alert the court officials. Lord Marshall can deliver the news to His Majesty."

And with a small snort and a humorless grin, Cor nodded at him. "'Preciate that."

"With all due respect, Lord Marshall," Ignis slashed calmly as he made his way past the older man, "I don't." He slammed the door shut behind him, an angry hand raking through his locks before the adviser stomped down the aisle.

* * *

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose in a poor attempt to drive away the hammering headache thrumming against his forehead. It did little to ease out the jabbing sensation, though, as the brouhaha around him allowed him no reprieve from the cacophony of the bickering voices. The court, while many were still in stupor over the ghastly news, most seemed to find it their topmost priority to come up with the appropriate methods of retaliation, sooner rather than later. And most seemed to think, too, that it was precisely their devised plan of action that would be the best one. Ignis let out a bothersome sigh as his emeralds drifted over to the king seated at the end of the table.

Regis looked heartbroken. Sat with his head hung, a hand over his face, the man looked fragile, and had he always looked that old, too? Ignis hadn't thought so. It was like his grief had added years to him in one night. One terrible, fated night that would be the footsteps of the destruction of his country. Cor stood by the throne, on attention, but Ignis noted how the stormy eyes again and again shifted over to the suffering monarch, pity rimming his otherwise stony expression.

The peace negotiations had been their only chance. Lucis' only chance. And now that Accordo had watered down their best efforts... Ignis hissed at the poor choice of wording before he let out a tired sigh as his shoulders slumped. The people were exhausted, there would be asking no more of them. There weren't enough men to gather to go to war. Ignis feared that another round of enlistment would be the last straw. He feared riots, widespread distrust towards the throne should the people feel like their king had betrayed them. And even if they would succeed, it would leave the women and children unprotected and vulnerable to raiders should the able-bodied men go to war again. The pinch tightened, but it did nothing to aid the thundering spasms of pain.

"Enough!" the majesty's pained voice rose above the bickering, and the voices died one by one as the court's attention turned towards the throne. "I'm sure all of you are well aware of what has transpired tonight," Regis spoke with scolding in his tone as he let his narrowed eyes go around his board of officials. "And rest assured that I'm expecting the death of my son to be mourned appropriately." There was silence, the looks of the court members darkening with shame as one after another their heads hung in remembrance of the royal.

After a moment's silence, Regis spoke again, this time with calm, although Ignis could make out the exhaustion in that voice, "Now, what do you suggest we should do about Accordo?"

For a few seconds, no-one made a move, and the young adviser snorted quietly as he rolled his eyes a little. First so full of themselves, suddenly after a little slap in the face, no-one has anything to say. Typical of these power-hungry mongers, so quick to claim the glory, but when it came to taking responsibility, suddenly these politicians weren't so eager anymore. Eventually, one man stood.

"My liege, under these circumstances, it is clear that Accordo has broken the ceasefire, and an act such as this… cannot go unavenged, milord." Regis listened with weariness written all over his features before nodding,

"So, what do you suggest, Alfred?"

The said man nodded briefly. "We should treat Altissia's treason as a declaration of war, milord. We should supply the ships to fortify the city's port, for the enemy is bound to attack from the sea."

"And what of the people inland?" the king raised an eyebrow.

"With all due respect, my liege, considering Altissia's boldness in their sacrilege, it would be more likely that they would target the capital directly instead of the people."

"With all due respect," a young voice spoke up as Ignis gracefully stood up from his chair to face the king, "the people are suffering, milord, and I'm afraid Accordo is well aware of this, as the ceasefire was forged under such dire conditions. In their weakened state, the peasantry are vulnerable to attack and could potentially be persuaded to turn to treason, to join the invading forces in the face of the danger should the enemy make landfall further down south and march towards the city from there. The villages lying on the path would be eradicated. Thus, I suggest that securing the inland defence and fortifying what can be fortified would be wise." All the heads had turned to Ignis as he remained stood even when was done talking; the king nodded, a tired inkling of a smile visiting his face briefly.

"And what of Accordo's threat then, my boy?"

Ignis took a moment before answering him, "Let them come to us, milord. It takes weeks to fully supply a fleet and sail across. It would allow us the time to prepare for a siege and fortify the crown city as well as to shield the surrounding villages."

"That's absurd!" rose another voice, a man more than twice Ignis' age jumped up. "That we should allow the enemy the time they desire to prepare for a war, while we ourselves would cower behind one armada, and what then, if Altissia breaks through? If Camelia wants a war, Accordo isn't gonna send a fleet of a few gunships. Rest assured, if we let them, they're gonna sail our shores with everything they have! I say we send a fleet to hit them first, before they have had time to fully supply their finest, my liege. Surprise them with hands in their pockets. Crush 'em on their own doorstep!"

"But from where do you think we'll get the men?" countered another, before another voice rose up to challenge them. Ignis' eyes slid closed with a tired sigh as the commotion relapsed, and the fingers rose up to massage his temple. This was going to be a long night.

It went on for almost three hours. The court couldn't find a consensus when others wanted to safeguard the inland defence, while others saw offence as the best defence. Eventually, the reasonable arguments ran out as it seemed that there was going to be no solution, until Regis' voice cut into the hubbub again. Ignis gulped as he listened to the grim words, the broken pride and the pain of the loss behind his decision as Regis ordered a full mourning. It would last for a month. By that time, they were to gather the men, to supply the ships. Lucis would go to war.


	5. Messages

**AN: Hey guys! Sorry that this chapter is a bit on the shorter side, but I think I need to lay down some settings so that I get to blow 'em up in the next chapters. I'm sure you're all missing Prompto by now, too, but please bear with me for a while longer. The calm before the storm is almost over. Then, I promise, it's 'turn down for what?!'**

 **Beta read by Elillierose**

* * *

Chapter 4 - Messages

The slow, yet even, creaking of the ship hadn't managed to lull him into sleep despite how exhausted he felt. Lying on the hard floor of his confinement, Noctis tossed once again, trying to find a comfortable position. It was difficult, though, when all the cushioning he was provided were his hands. His clothes were on the lighter side, too, and the night was crawling under the thin layers, dancing on his skin like frosty will-o-wisps. The prince groaned irritably as he shifted on the planks, any position hardly better than the previous one. Finally, he stilled onto his side, curled up into a ball to keep what little heat he had from escaping into the chilly air.

His teeth chattered lightly. The twilight eyes cracked open a little, and the filtering moonlight graced the small puffs rising from his breaths; he rubbed his hands together to draw a little warmth into the digits. He had never imagined it could get this cold below deck; he wondered briefly how the crew managed like this. At least they had the comfort of numbers, maybe being crammed into such a tight space had its benefits.

From there, his train of thought bridged the gap to the blond boy who had brought him the food; a small wrinkle appeared onto his brow. For the life of him, Noctis couldn't understand, why. The way the boy had seemed, reserved and somehow reluctant, somehow it rubbed him wrong. And the way he had addressed him…the honorary hadn't held the mockery with which the others regarded him. It had been sincere, respectful. And that, if possible, perplexed Noctis even more. The kid wasn't treating him right…no, actually scrap that, he _was_ treating him right. Just, not right for the context. Or maybe it was the right thing to do but not the right person…ugh, he didn't know himself!

The kid wasn't treating him like a prisoner. He was treating him like a royal. And that's what had the prince's thoughts run in circles: why? Was this another scheme, then? A way to worm a way closer to him to win his trust, to use him in whatever games the ladycaptain was playing? Noctis wasn't stupid; he wasn't alive by accident. He was on his way to somewhere; if this had been just about ransom money, there wouldn't have been the need to blow up the ship. They could have just snatched him - their walking, talking gold ingot - and spelled their conditions. No, this was about something else. Just, what good would he possibly be for them now? A dishonored prince of a falling nation, staged dead and robbed of his riches. But, that was just the thing, wasn't it? Noctis sighed deeply, heavily, a lump of dread rising into his throat. Presumed dead, no-one would ever know what happened to him, where he ended up. He could disappear from the world, and no-one would know to come for him. Vivid images of all the possible futures awaiting him now plagued his exhausted mind, none of them too pleasant, and in the moment of despair, Noctis truly wished he could have gone with Nyx. Seeing where this could land him, death then could have been mercy.

The ship careened remarkably, and idly he watched how the numerous containers and thingamabobs on and along the walls moved around slightly. His cage didn't budge, though. Secured into the floor with heavy hooks on all four corners, it looked like the planks would come off before the structure would move a blasted damn inch, and scornfully Noctis thought so, too, as he lifted his upper body off the floor, supporting his weight onto an elbow. Among the low creaks, though, he made out one that didn't belong. A series of creaks, nonconforming to the steady movements of the cargo. Purposeful. Stealthy. An instinct told him to hide, and lowering himself back down, faking sleep as well as he could, Noctis' eyes were on the doorway leading into the crew's quarters, and not two seconds later, a bulky form moved among the shadows.

For someone of his size, Wedge had considerable stealth skills, sliding amongst the darkness like it was his second nature; Noctis had to peer a little as he stepped out of the cabin. Flat against the ground, the dark brows furrowed a little as the man's hand disappeared into the folds of his jacket for a while, and when it re-emerged, it lingered over his chest for a moment, as if feeling for something beneath the fabric.

Was it an instinct that told Wedge he was being watched? The leery gaze trailed over to the cage, and if the raven had said it wasn't at all satisfying to witness the brief flash of panic, that then morphed into apprehension, twisting the brute's features…the raven would have lied. The twilight eyes nailed the first mate to the spot for a moment as Noctis held the eye contact, unwavering, distancing, but no less observant.

The look on Wedge's face went through a full circle from shocked horror to nervous rage. His lips spreading into an ugly snarl, he hissed an angry, "The hell yar lookin' at?!" Noctis didn't reply, his gaze never leaving the other's, but the prince cracked a small smirk, and he could almost see the vein splitting in Wedge's head as the look on his face turned from raging to furious. Silence all but forgotten, Wedge stomped up to the cage, and the royal's face fell, in turn, when the brute unlocked the door.

Scampering up from the floor took him too long. Noctis was halfway on his feet (what difference that would have done, though, the small voice in the back of his mind reminded him snidely, but the prince knew that he wasn't just going to lay down and let himself be beaten to a pulp) when the hand closed around his throat. Stars exploded behind his vision, a choked cry leaving him as Wedge slammed his head into the metal bars. The last of his strength disappeared from the raven's clawing fingers, an arm dropping to hang uselessly at his side as he blinked half-delusionally.

His face inches from the raven's, small droplets of spittle flew onto the young man's cheek, the brute snarled, "Ya saw nuthin', ya hear? Ya as much as peep a word o' thas ta an'one, an' good ol' Wedge here's gonna cut out yar tongue, got me?! Nice 'n' slow. Ya knows ya don' need it…" He left that unfinished, cherishing the horror on the other's face, and it just made the man want to add insult to injury. The snarl softening into something perhaps even more frightening, cunningness, the first mate grabbed a hold of his chin, turning his head to the side, studying him. "Yar a pretty bastard, arentcha? Someone's gonna pay nifty cash for ya. Tha pretty ones al'ays sell be'er." Noctis let out a pained breath as the grip tightened. "Now, don' make me maim tha' goods, now will ya?"

"G-get off me!"

Snorting, Wedge's grasp of his neck tightened, cutting off his airway, and the man slammed him against the bars again, with more force, before dropping him down like a bag of trash. Left gasping, Noctis' head swam; from faraway he could hear the fading mumbling before the dark shape withdrew from him, and before the silence claimed him, he made out the clatter of metal. Then, blissfully, mercifully, Noctis finally slept.

* * *

The brunet adjusted the folder held against his chest as he strolled back towards his quarters, slowly, his steps much heavier than usual. A deep sigh left him. Cor had been right. He had been absolutely right. Meeting with the commanding officer, Greaves, no matter how he had formulated his questions, no matter how much he had pressured, had turned every stone…he had still ended up with the same disappointing results. All the man had had to say was what he already knew. An Accordon frigate, sanked the first escort, then rammed the courier ship, which blew up later, nothing but charred driftwood and haphazard chunks of whatever floating materials and cargo the ship had held. Mutilated bodies, most beyond recognition, less than a third of the crew. No survivors. No sign of the prince. Ignis tasted acid. He had hoped so much. That there was _something_. Anything. A flicker, a fleeting promise that his prince…Noct, Noct would be alive. That hope, now all but crushed as he wandered mindlessly along the aisle now furnished with black fabrics, the tradition of the full mourning.

As Ignis passed the small indoor garden, the familiar figure caught his attention, and he sighed again. Letting the folder drop to his side, the adviser stepped away from the aisle, his steps intentionally audible. The man would acknowledge him if he wanted, but it wasn't in his liking to intrude.

The prince's shield sat hunched, his arms resting on his thighs in a seemingly relaxed manner, but there was a darker shade of calm in the posture. It was given-up. Ignis cleared his throat, but the man barely reacted.

"You didn't attend the meeting."

Gladiolus snorted. "And what would I have done there?" He spoke with longing foreign to his usual tone; Ignis gulped lightly. He didn't know what to tell him. They weren't exactly close, not on a personal level, no, but he associated with him on a daily basis, on the grounds of their respective positions by Noct's side. Or, at least, had used to. Letting out another sigh, Ignis didn't wait for an invitation to sit next to the shield. A dark eyebrow rose in surprise at the action.

"Beg your pardon. If you'd rather be left alone…" he hinted, but didn't make a move to leave; it was clear the brunet was expecting the permission to stay, correctly, as the shield shook his head a little, conveying that his presence was welcomed.

"Nah. Could use some company, I guess."

"Thank you." Both of them sat in silence for a while after that, their gaze on anything but each other. The jade eyes traced the cracks between the cobblestone flooring on the garden path, and Gladio had crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned his back against the bench's backrest. The acid still lingering on his tongue, the adviser soon couldn't stand it anymore. "Gladio." He waited until he had received a gruff, questioning grunt, that being all the acknowledgement the shield offered him at the moment. "How have you been?"

The dark man cast him a surprised look before he cracked a humorless grin and chuckled grimly, "With the exception of recently becoming unemployed and finding out I'm going to war, hunh, things could suck worse, I guess." One neat eyebrow rose at the carefully contained rage seeping through his demeanor. "Just, can't believe he's gone."

"Indeed," Ignis all but whispered. Sensing the resentment boiling underneath the other's skin, in control for now but just waiting to be unleashed, the adviser saw it best to change the topic. After a moment, "How is Miss Iris?" 'With all of this' was implied in his tone. The older man sighed, a long exhale, as a means to calm himself, Ignis guessed. The shield's arms unfolded onto his lap.

"She's takin' it better than most men thrice her age. She's upset, but she's a certain fight in her. A true Amicitia," he shook his head, and Ignis felt inclined to ask if he disapproved of his sister. Heavens knew young Miss Amicitia had some considerable character to her. Too much at times.

"And…what of the war?"

"That's the thing. She's insisting on coming along," Gladiolus snorted, grinning in honest delight as he shook his head a little. "I bet she'd sneak on board if she had to." The other made a soft, amused sound.

"Yes. Miss Iris certainly has quite the temper. Can't imagine where she gets it from."

"Hey. What's that supposed ta mean?" the shield snorted a little laughter, but the subtle sting had done its job. The atmosphere had lightened up at least a little, and the men talked for a while longer, mostly about more conventional topics, but eventually the shield made his leave, and the adviser wished him well before returning to his quarters.

As his steps rounded the corner, though, something caught his eye, and a small shudder ran along his back. Whoever had done this hadn't bothered with subtlety, Ignis thought briefly as the jade jewels landed on the blaring, yellowed paper, pinned onto his door with two crossbow bolts. Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand, Ignis scanned the aisle, up and down, even outside the window in case the someone was still watching him; and indeed, out there, on the other side of the small inner yard, a person stood in the shade of the wall. Too far to tell the face but as the figure stood there, facing his way and not moving a muscle, the adviser quickly became sure that the person was absolutely, definitely, watching him. Slender fingers crunched the paper.

As if satisfied, the person suddenly turned to leave, and the first syllables of trying to call out to him were already out before Ignis could stop himself. It was already too late, though, the form had vanished; the adviser's jaw tightened, a growl teasing his throat but never let out as the man collected himself, and willed the fingers around the paper to unclench.

The quizzical eyes widened behind their rims as Ignis read the words,

 _I have a reason to believe Prince Noctis is alive. If you want to know what I know, come to the Whitewater tavern tonight. Order a drink, ask the old woman for some pleasurable company, then show her this message. Follow her. I'll be waiting for you. Come alone._

 _\- D._

It took a moment for Ignis to get to the end, as his eyes again and again returned to the first ten words, the man fighting with himself. Whoever had brought this note knew way more than Ignis was comfortable with, that much was certain to him, and the order to come alone rang foreboding to him as well. He had no reason to trust this "D", in fact, he shouldn't even give it a second thought. But, that hope, that flicker he had been yearning for – there it was, in those small words. And if there was any hope, any chance of that promise having an ounce of truth to it…it went without saying that Ignis would do whatever it took to see it to its end.

Thus, came the nightfall, Ignis, dressed in an inconspicuous coat, complete with a seasoned newsboy cap, slipped out of the palace, and headed towards the port.

* * *

The Imperial Fortress, Niflheim

The scent of sylleblossoms filled the air. The soothing purl of the small fountain echoed peacefully in the granite pillars, creating a harmonious atmosphere in the small garden. The lights and the shadows danced on the statue of a woman holding the two amphoras, water pouring out from one of them, rippling down into a small basin beneath.

The tranquility was disturbed by approaching rustling, the still distant sound traveling far ahead of the man. The fair brows creased lightly in annoyance, the heterochromatic eyes cracking open a fraction. As the newcomer came within the range, Ravus gracefully rose from the ground, his back turned towards the younger man and eyes stubbornly trained forward.

"I recall specifically telling you that I was not to be disturbed, Brigadier General," the silverette spoke with unhidden scolding in his tone as he slowly turned to look at the other. The said man, Brigadier General Loqi Tummelt, gulped, his face wavering a little before he regained his composure. He hadn't forgotten. He also hadn't come here empty handed.

"Lord Commander, this…this just arrived," he explained himself as he stepped up, holding out his fist. "Carried by the grey pigeon, sir." The older man's brows rose, and he extended his hand to receive the small roll the other dropped onto his palm. With a brief glance, the look ushering the youth to back away, Ravus unfolded the roll. The blue-and-purple eyes skimmed over the short message, the crease on his forehead deepening, before his gaze met the officer again.

"Good work, Brigadier General. You may go. You're dismissed."

Loqi looked like he was about to ask something for a moment, before apparently deciding against that; instead, he bowed lightly before turning on his heels, and leaving the gardens. Ravus watched him go, making sure to hear the footsteps fading before he gathered his sword from the marble bench where it had been resting, and tucked his jacket to smoothen it properly. Before leaving, the man cast an almost longing look at the small bed of blue flowers, mouthing something, like a wish, before the crease was back, and Ravus was out of the garden.

Not stopping, the young commander's hasty steps flew down an aisle, then another, crossed halls, a determined pace in his stride as his fingers pinched the small slip of paper. Only as he reached the door he was headed for did he stop for a while, his hand hovering hesitantly over the lion-crested knocker, before he grabbed the handle, and slammed it against the metal thrice.

For a moment, there was silence; then,

"Enter."

Gulping, the man straightened his posture before pushing the door open and stepping into the luminous drawing room. Upon entering, though, a jolt of irritation rushed through him, and Ravus fought to keep the displeasure from showing on his face as he took note of the other man in the room. Sparing a polite nod to the chancellor, Ravus deeply wished that the man wasn't in a chatty mood. He didn't like him, and he was sure the chancellor knew that, too. And maybe it was exactly because of that that Ravus so often found himself stuck on a pointless talk with Ardyn Izunia, on something that either didn't concern or interest him, but it certainly seemed to humor the chancellor. Just because he could do it, just to push his buttons. Just to show him his place and rub it into his face.

Lady Fortuna was on his side tonight, though. Both men regarded him with a degree of annoyance as he approached, as if he had just interrupted something. Well, suited him. Emperor Aldercapt's tone was openly impatient as he demanded, "Yes, High Commander? What do you want?"

Practically mimicking the action with which the note had been presented to him, Ravus handed out the roll. "This arrived a moment ago, Your Grace," he said. "It's started."

The wrinkles on the old man's forehead almost doubled in number as his eyebrows shot up. Excitedly, he snatched the note from the junior, and a glee lit up in the aged eyes as he read the neat handwriting on the parchment.

 _'It's done. -AH'_

The chapped lips cracked a greedy smirk, eyes narrowing dangerously as he whispered triumphantly, "Finally."


	6. What's Your Name?

**AN: I'm not dead! \o/ And neither is Fin. I have zero intention of letting this fic die, I'm having way too much fun with it.**

 **Thank you all for your interest in this story so far! I hope it continues to satisfy as we're about to see Prompto and Noctis finally actually interact. A little bit of Prompto's background, too.**

 **Beta read by Elillierose**

* * *

Chapter 5 - What's Your Name?

"Where could it be…?" On his knees on the floorboards, Prompto muttered a low curse under his breath as he peeked under the layers of fabrics cascading onto the floor, again coming up with nothing. A bit irritated, he pushed the cotton out of his face and snapped his fingers in frustration as he got onto his feet. Where was it? He always left it on top of that crate for the night! There weren't that many places an arm band could get lost into. But seeing as he had checked all the possible hiding places he could think of – behind the crate, beneath the hammock, even from among his comrades' belongings - it was simply gone, and a steep crease formed over the youth's features. It was merely a piece of fabric, but that thing mattered to him. He had gotten it from Ava! Longing washed over the young man's face, and he let out a deep sigh, his shoulders dropping with it; he wondered how the others were doing. Mitchell and Rory and Noira and…and Ava. Oh, sweet little Ava! He missed them all, but the little girl, for her he worried the most. How had they managed without him? Prompto felt a sting in his heart; it had been so long now. They must have thought he was dead or captured. Or that he had left them, and frankly, the blond didn't know which was the worst.

He would never forgive himself if anything happened to the kids.

It was the increasing thumping of feet somewhere above him that drove him, reluctantly, from his reverie; a bothersome eye roll, and the blond's teeth sank into lip little. He should be going. Faintly, his fingers traced skin where the band should have been, and Prompto let out a low 'tsk', then, with a stifled grunt, stepped out from the quarters, and headed up the stairs onto the deck.

Except that he didn't.

As he exited, a darker shape among the shadows caught his eye. The oddly misplaced figure.

"Oh, shit!" He practically leaped across the cargo hold until he was hovering above the raven's still-out-of-it form. Behind the bars, the prince didn't even twitch as Prompto called for him a couple times; his frown took a concerned tone.

And that was when he caught the coloring on the other's neck.

Where visible from behind the wild charcoal hair or his luxurious clothing, the black-and-blue markings, looking awfully lot like a handprint to Prompto, adorned the royal's smooth, fair skin. And he knew only one person with a palm that large and the guts to touch the ladycaptain's cargo.

Wedge had really done a number of him.

Crouching down next to the cage, Prompto reached to shake the prince's shoulder. "Hey? Hey?!" He tried harder when there was no response. "Your Highness?!" This time, with a series of low grunts, the royal eventually came to, blinking as if trying to clear his vision. Then, the midnight eyes landed on the blond; a surge of fury flashed in those orbs, and with a sharp snort, Noctis pushed the hand away.

"What do you want?" If the raven had intended it to sound intimidating, his attempt fell short. Coming out as embarrassed and confused, Noctis sounded more like a teased child than anything more admirable, and Prompto had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Well, at least his stubbornness was still intact. He let out a breath through his nose as he watched how the other fought himself into a sitting position.

"Something tall, sinister and second-in-command-y passed you by here, Highness?"

"What's it to you?!" Noctis hissed, shooting him a dirty glare.

Ignoring the look, Prompto insisted, "Listen. Try not push his buttons, Highness. Trust me, I know how he gets. And...the less Wedge takes notice of you around here, the easier it's gonna be."

"What do you care?!" The prince eyed him coldly. This kid...he might have been different from the others, but he was still one of _them_. The same scum. A fucking pirate! All of this was their doing! They had killed Nyx!

The fair boy looked like he was suppressing a scoff that would have wanted much to get out. "Trust me, Your Highness. You don't wanna get on this guy's bad side."

"Why? What's he gonna do, kill me?" Noctis sneered at him. "Like he killed Nyx!" The light brows furrowed a little.

"The shadow man…" A dark shade had appeared into Prompto's voice.

"What're you talkin' about?" the prince questioned, but the fury in his voice hadn't dimished. "His name was Nyx. Nyx Ulric. And he was my friend, you bastards!"

"That man," Prompto started, the sky gaze locked onto the midnight, "he killed a friend of mine." Noctis looked only slightly taken-aback.

"Still doesn't justify what _he_ did to him! You're fuckin' animals!"

"Not all of us." The raven's breath caught. There was hurt, genuine hurt, in that tone, a look of disgust and mortification in those eyes before the whisk was gone. But it had been enough to quell the rage within the raven, even if just a little. His stare had lost most of the intensity, though, that fire morphing into a new emotion, curiosity, as he watched how the blond sat down, pulled his legs closer to his chest and wrapped his arms loosely around them.

Many things teased Prompto's tongue. Many things he wanted to spit at the royal. Many for which he would hang for sure ('As if I wasn't going to already.'). He held his mouth, though; arguing with the prince would get him nowhere. Swallowing the bitter taste, the blond chose his next words very carefully:

"Listen, Wedge, he...he won't care if you're a royal or not, or a hostage or not, or, or all limbs intact or not, you know. The less he cares about you, Your Highness, the better off you'll be." Subconsciously he moved his right hand to hide it from view, an awkward motion that did pique Noctis' interest, and a dark eyebrow rose interrogatively as he pinned the boy to the spot with a look.

"That coming from experience then?" he asked, his tone significantly kinder than it had been, and something akin to horrified surprise crossed over the blond's features before he turned away with a wordless 'uhm'. "I take that as a yes," the prince stated as he sat himself against the bars, studying him. His rage had almost drained from him now, the adrenaline rush gone. There was something odd about this boy, and it had nothing to do with his young years, either. There was a certain...awkwardness to everything he did, even how he held himself. Something that didn't belong. He...he interested Noctis. "What happened?"

"Uhm," Prompto cleared his throat, his gaze drifting towards his right wrist, then flicking to meet the other's before he averted it again. That question had caught him completely off-guard. How was he supposed to answer him, the prince? He could feel those keen, expectant eyes upon himself, though, and gulped a little in shame. Then, not looking at the other, he showed him the skin on the back of his hand. The darkened shape of a spear tip stood out where the brand had laid claim onto the fair flesh. There was a soft sound, coming from the raven.

"That's…" The royal's voice faded, but it didn't matter, Prompto had picked up the tone of it.

Pure venom coating his words, Prompto spoke lowly, "He thought I was bein' 'disobedient'." Then, his tone flattened significantly as he met his eyes again, "Please don't give him a reason, Your Highness." However, the blues visited the bruising on his high-class company's neck, and a chuckling snort slipped out, "Although I see that it's a bit too late already, isn't it?"

And to his own amazement, Noctis found himself returning the smirk on the blondie's commoner features.

Both men wore smug smiles on their faces as they just looked at each other for a fleeting moment. It was short-lived, though; as the remnants of chuckles died down, it was like a heavy weight had been dropped back onto them, and suddenly feeling awkward for staring, Prompto turned away with a small sigh.

Following his suit, Noctis faced another way, too. He half-expected the blond to just get up and leave, but for whatever reason, he didn't. He just sat there, hands still around his legs, gazing absentmindedly at the floor. And to his surprise, the presence brought odd comfort to him. Not exactly companionship, but at least he wasn't completely alone, and, fair enough, Noctis still preferred it this way, his peculiar company over complete isolation. He glanced curiously at the young pirate, not meeting his eyes, but then again, he wasn't really expecting to, and decided to trust his instincts. Prince Noctis had always been prone to going with the gut-feeling, and this time, there was something. This boy, there was something about him. His curiosity got the best of him as he was overcome with the urge to see where this would lead him.

With a little exaggerated sigh of relaxation, the prince slumped his weight against the bars. Flicking a few straws between his fingers lazily, he gave the blond the chance to talk first, but seeing how it wasn't going to happen, the kid just sitting there but not pushing to get closer anymore, he decided to just go with it:

"Where're you takin' me?"

The blond's reaction to the demand blew him off the radar. " _I_ , as a matter of fact, am not taking you anywhere!" the kid all but declared. " _She_ , on the other hand, has set sail for Deepsword Escape. A haven for...for pirates, slave traders, thieves and killers. You name it, the place has it." A degree of condolence had seeped into his tone, and Noctis' eyes narrowed. "I...I think they're plannin' on selling you, Your Highness."

"I know."

"You know?!" the sky eyes, shocked and surprised, snapped back at their night counterpart.

"That talkin' walrus of a first mate said somethin' like that." And the blond couldn't help another snorty laugh at the term, and again, Noctis found himself smirking.

"I don't get it, though," the blond got more serious again. "How can you be so calm about it, Your Highness? That place, it's…" his voice faded as he couldn't find the words to describe their undoubtedly displeasing destination. "Y-you might never get outta there!"

"Again, what's it to you?" Noctis asked, faking boredom as he eyed the blond disinterestedly. Inside, he was everything but, though. The way he could almost see the frustration build in the blond...to say Noctis wasn't intrigued would have been, well, to put it bluntly, a lie. "You. You're not like the others, are you?"

"How nice of you to notice," he muttered, half-voiced.

Noctis ignored the missing honorary. "If you're not a pirate, then what are you doin' here?" he asked, now leaning forward and sounding genuinely curious.

The kid looked like he was looking for an escape for a while: his gaze wandered, and he clutched his right arm as if nervous. Then, with a defeated sigh, he explained, "I, I was taken. I was stupid and...and got myself caught. I tried to snatch some food from the hold. The ladycaptain caught me at it."

"Really?!" the raven subconsciously scooted over a little, grabbing ahold of a bar and leaning his weight against it. "You're a thief?"

"A man's gotta eat, right?" Prompto shrugged. "Although, I guess it's never really been a thing for the royals to understand." There was a sting in that tone that made the referenced raven cock his head a little. Under any normal circumstance, he would have heard no more of this peasant.

Then again, under any normal circumstance, he wouldn't have sat locked up on hardwood floor, covered in straws and saw dust, either.

"You're a peasant then?" The blond glanced up at him as if saying, 'isn't it obvious?' "Where's your family?" All the answer he got was a half-assed shrug; a light frown settled between Noctis' brows.

"I, uh, I used to...live on the street," the blond started. Just a bit too cheerful, just a bit too fake. He must have realized that himself, since when he next spoke, the tone of it had dropped. "There's this group of other orphans. A bunch of kids...all younger than me. We, we would sleep in an abandoned cellar, snatch any food we'd get." Noctis blinked a little; it was bizarre, the way the blond drifted into his memories. He wasn't really talking to him as much as he was talking to himself, it seemed. Not daring to interrupt, the prince simply listened, insatiably intrigued by the blond. This odd boy who seemed so out of place amongst this crowd of cut-throats.

"There was no guarantee if any one of us would ever live in a different way. But...we were a family. A-and I-" Prompto's voice broke a little, and he pursed his lips tightly, teeth digging into his lip, and Noctis could see his fingers clenching the flesh.

So absorbed was he in the memories that Prompto paid no heed to the first warnings. The noises on the deck above, and the increasing thumping of feet. And Noctis, if he noticed it, he couldn't connect it.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," Prompto forced out a small laughter. "I guess I trailed off a little there. Your Highness don' need to hear such matters that don't concern Your Excellency." And why was it that Noctis' eyes narrowed, as if there had been a sting in his chest?

The noises above had grown louder. _"Where is he?!"_

Now it seemed like the blond finally caught up a little as he returned to his surroundings. "What's goin' on?"

 _"Find him!"_

"What's happenin'?" Prompto's question was directed to the prisoner as he pushed himself off the floor. That's all he had time for, though, as unflagging steps thumped down, the sound coming closer until one of the crew members, a red-headed man with a long face and a couple of piercings in his left ear rounded the corner. As the men's eyes locked, from the way the red-head's face lit up - with dark eagerness, bloodlust of a kind - Prompto should have been able to connect the dots.

"He's here, cap'n! Rat's in the hold!" he turned to cry behind him; and almost immediately there was more thumping - a lot more thumping - headed their way. Prompto's heart plummeted.

"What's goin' on?!" He almost wished he hadn't asked at the look his comrade gave him. The chapped lips cracked a wicked, beastial grin, the yellowed teeth showing savagely.

"Lil' rattie's been naughty..." he jeered, taking a couple stalking steps closer. "Lil' rattie's in troubl' now. Sooooo much troubl'."

Prompto had backed up a little, color draining from his face as the sounds of the angry mob came down the stairs. "Why?! What did I do?!"

All the answer the other man offered him was a self-satisfied, knowing (sadistic) grin as he pressed himself against the wall to make way for the others to push past him and further into the hold. Prompto had mere seconds to react as two men stepped up to grab him, forcing his arms behind his back uncomfortably. "What're you doin'?! Let go of me!" He tried to struggle, only to have his arm yanked harshly, pain shooting up his bicep and shoulder; a breathless grunt slipped out.

"Shuddup, ya git!"

"But why?! I haven't-ugh!" Air left him a little as the young thief was swiftly punched in the stomach. Jerking forward, Prompto heaved in oxygen as the rowdy crowd that had gathered around them parted.

Each 'clack' of the ladycaptain's boot heels echoed in the narrow space a little. Not wasting a second, Aranea grabbed the boy by the front of his vest, and Prompto let out an inglorious little whimper as he heard the telltale 'shing', followed by the coldness descending upon his Adam's apple. Her voice like a whip, Aranea purred a warning, "Where is it?"

"Whe-where's what?" the bound boy stammered, instinctively craning away from the threatening steel.

"I'm gonna ask again, Rat. Where is it?!" The blade pressed against his skin.

"I-I dunno whacha talkin' about, cap'n! Where's what?!"

"Recognize this?" Prompto was too terrified to know it, but his already wide eyes broadened significantly at the sight of his arm band dangling between the captain's fingers. "'Was found from my cabin, beside the trunk. Always knew you were nifty with locks, kid, but this time the wall crept up to ya," she held a pause. "Where's the Wayfinder?!" Her grip tightened.

"I dunno," Prompto insisted, his tone taking a desperate edge. "I don'even know what that is."

Aranea scoffed, but the steel disappeared, and the blond immediately drew in air in voracious gasps. The stormy orbs were cold as she ordered, "Search him." With half-hearted 'ay cap'ns', one of the men holding him pressed into the back of his knee, forcing Prompto to the floor as hands begun to feel around him.

"Wh-what're you-?!"

"Shuddup!"

"He ain't have it, cap'n," announced one of the men, clearly disappointed. The captain's expression darkened.

"One more chance, kiddo. Whacha do with it?"

"I haven't done anythin', cap'n," Prompto all but pleaded. "I dunno whacha talkin' about, I swear."

"You swearing ain't helpin' you out here much now, kiddo," she scoffed. "Lessee if the sharks are hungry." Then she stomped to grab something from a nearby wall hook; she raised the pile of rope high in the air as she shouted, "Gentlemen! Let's have ourselves a little fun!"

Prompto's face washed white at the sight of the rope. "No!" His cry drowned under the rallying cheers of the crew. "Please! I haven't done anythin'!" He was struggling, his pledges falling on deaf ears as the men who had been holding him were already tying his hands in front of him. "No!"

Noctis watched all this with confusion and dread. He didn't know what was going on, but he had a bad feeling about it. Whatever this was, his conversation partner was clearly desperate. Whatever it was he was accused of, it seemed like he really didn't know anything about it. And whatever it was they were going to do to him, it was bad. But as the raven caught a familiar face lurking a little ways behind the captain - a despicable, deplorable face - smirking with dark self-satisfaction, the first mate's ugly, peering eyes nailed onto the scared-out-of-his-mind blond...Noctis did the math.

"Hey."

It hadn't been particularly loud. It hadn't been piercing or passionate, either. Leaning against his cell bars in a bored way, the young prince's whole demeanor read disinterest: arms crossed over his chest and a vacant look in his eyes. But the tone...with practiced authority in it, the regal voice had been enough to stun the entire crowd, frozen everything around it as everyone's attention was now on their princely prisoner.

"He didn't do it."

One by one, the crew members started shouting 'boos' and 'shut ups' and insults to him, and resumed dragging the thrashing blond onto his feet. Sparing only a cold look at them, the prince kept on the bored facade, but the midnight eyes seeked out the captain - and Noctis had to force the glee from showing on his face as he felt like giving himself a high-five at the look plastered across the ladycaptain's pretty face.

"Halt!" Aranea motioned his men down, ignoring the disappointed, frustrated groans as she sauntered towards the cage. Noctis faked an interested eyebrow raise. "So, you think you have something to say, 'Your Highness'?" she smiled a sharp smile. "His Highness has developed a _soft spot_ for our little Rat here, hmm?"

The prince raised an eyebrow in a silent question. "I don't give a damn about a pirate, got it? Just am not fond of seeing innocent people getting executed for something they didn't do. I was under the impression that even pirate scum like you have some honor." He fixed her with a meaningful look. "All I'm sayin' is, you might wanna check up on your crew a little bit more," Noctis shrugged. "This kid didn't do it. It was that fatass first mate over there," he nodded into the general direction of the said man (taking way more enjoyment in the dumbstruck look on the man's face than he would have cared to admit). "You're welcome," he added, the spite audible in his voice as the midnight eyes returned to meet the ladycaptain's gunmetal.

"What?" It was so quiet the word barely left Aranea's lips. But the cavalcade of emotions the raven could read from her face then was a show in itself. There was bewilderment, denial, disbelief. Then he saw the spark as something seemed to click inside, and he could almost see the cogs turning as her face settled into a contemplating frown. Her gaze had turned piercing, studying his poker face. Seeking for any indication of bluff.

The moment was shattered by Wedge's roaring voice, a slight tremor of rage - and doubt - audible in it. "Wha' the 'ell ar' ye sayin', piss'ead?! I'm gonna cut yer tongue fo' this, princey boy. Then see 'ow ye tell yer lil' stories." He stomped closer, and a rogue gulp ran down Noctis' trachea, but he maintained his cool. He had to! The kid's life depended on it. As did his own, he begrudgingly understood as he glanced hastily at the first mate's seething face.

But then something happened that had Noctis let out a gasp of surprise. Aranea stepped to block his path. The sound Wedge made was a cross of frustration, and bewilderment. "Ye can' seriously believe the whelp, can ye, cap'n? C'mon. Les' jus' dip 'em an'...!"

"Quiet!" she snapped, then slowly turned around to face him.

"Then why would you get so stressed about it, good sir?" Noctis sneered at him, his voice mocking. "Just like you did last night, when you crept out from the crew's quarters, with that kid's band in your chest pocket, right?" He had turned to face him over the ladycaptain's shoulder. "Quite enough to leave a little memento for catching you at it, right?!" Noctis shot with jeer; simultaneously he had unbuttoned his collar, to show the angry bruising standing out on his pale neck like an inkstain on parchment. The dark bruising looked fresh. And an awful lot like a handprint left by a rather large palm.

Wedge's breath caught as his face reddened. Aranea let out a gasp as she turned to see the markings. Pressed against his cage, Noctis glared bloody murder at the large man - the filth stain who had dared to play him like a puppet. He would see the bastard burn for this!

"Ye lil'-!" Wedge started, already pushing past the woman, but she stepped to block his path again.

"Wedge," she snipped, her voice tight with a myriad of emotions, but most prominent at the moment seemed to be betrayal. "Would you mind showing me your pockets." It wasn't a suggestion, no fool would make that mistake. The ladycaptain crossed her arms expectantly. The temperature in the cargo hold seemed to drop.

The brute's face drew into an ugly snarl. "I ain' got nothin' in me pockets, cap'n."

"Then surely you won't mind showin' 'em," drawled Noctis with undisclosed amusement.

"Shut up," the captain snapped at the prisoner. "Now, Wedge." As the brute made no move, however, her expression darkened. "Hold 'im!"

"Ye lousy lan'lubbers ain't layin' a finger on me, gottit?!" Wedge roared around him as the first men stepped closer.

"Now!" Wedge was left spewing profanities and empty threats as the crew overpowered him. "Search him!"

"Don' ye whore-mothered bastards touch me, ye hear-?!"

"Cap'n!" Wedge's breath seemed to catch a little, his mouth snapping shut as one of the men pulled something out from the folds of his coat. Extending to show his hand to the captain, on his palm the man held a sphere-like object, pearlescent and luminous. Inside the globe, something was sparkling, like stars, and around it, a scythe-shaped fin revolved around the sphere like a wrapped-around compass needle. The ladycaptain's eyes flew wide, then narrowed into a poisonous glare.

A flash of panic registered in the brute's eyes. "I, I can' explain, cap'n-"

"Indeed!" In one fluid motion, Aranea had drawn the gun from its holster, and was pointing it to her first mate's head. "Explain!"

"Uhm, I-I, uh-"

"Were you planning on betraying me, Wedge?" she sounded more than hurt. Besides her fury, Aranea Highwind was devastated.

For a moment, there was a tense silence. Then an ugly sneer - jestery, mocking - crept over the brawny man's face. "Tch. The 'Finder ain't gonna obey ye, 'cap'n'." He smirked at her snidely. "Ye knows it. Ye _need_ me." He watched how the words sank, how Aranea's resolve seemed to waver. "Or ditcha really think tha' Rat ove' 'ere's gonna find it for ye?"

"Fi-find what?" uttered Prompto, his voice high-pitched and shaky as he was reeling with the notion that miraculously he wasn't being keelhauled and bleeding to death yet.

The captain paid him no heed, though; engaged in a staring contest with her first mate (former!), she searched fiercely those amber eyes for the motive. The reasoning behind her most trusted's treason. And there, in the midst of the caustic self-confidence, she saw the truth. Saw the greed and the unscrupulousness. Her finger tightened around the trigger.

"Better him than you, apparently."

The shot boomed out in the closed space, shaking all who were present and pounding their ears as the incessant ringing drove into their skulls. Wedge's face fell as a stifled sigh left him before the heavy man slumped to the floor. Aranea eyed him coldly, the smoking gun still held up halfway before she slowly lowered her arm. The storm in those eyes hadn't quelled, though. Instead, the waves were only growing higher.

"Relieve him of any of his belongings. The sharks will have what's left of him!" she ordered, her voice cold before starting towards the stairs.

"Cap'n! What about Rat?!"

At that, Aranea turned back to look behind him - towards the bound boy sitting on his knees on the floor, unspeakable terror, confusion and disbelief clouding his eyes as they _begged_ , begged silently for some understanding, for the captain to believe him, for the captain _to please god spare him-!_

"Let him go," she told simply. Then, her step heavy yet hollow, she left with the parting words, "No-one is to disturb me!"

Prompto could simply watch, his chest pounding and his body trembling all over, as the ladycaptain barged out from the cargo hold. It barely registered when someone - one of the men who had been holding him - cut his ropes, grumbling something Prompto didn't hear before he felt a light coolness and something moist on his face. Blinking a little, he snapped out of it enough to wipe the spittle as the other crew members were already taking their leave, or finishing ravaging what was left of their first mate before hauling the body up the stairs and onto the deck. Once alone again, and after an era, the sky gaze finally slowly turned to the raven.

The prince was leaning against the bars, grabbing them with both hands, and his midnight orbs held warmth as the royal studied him. Prompto opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. So he tried again, but still the words stuck to his throat.

The prince beat him to it, though. "You alright?"

"Uh, I-yeah. Thanks." Then he added, sincerely, "You...saved my life, Your Highness." Noctis simply shrugged, but a grin was tugging the edges of his lips upwards. "Why?" Prompto blurted out. "I mean, why would you…?"

Noctis leaned himself long against the bars. "I meant what I said, alright? I don't care for butchering innocent people." He took a moment to enjoy the awe on the other's face, "You might be a thief, but I knew that bastard was up to something. I really did see him there last night, and you don't look like the suicidal type to me."

Prompto listened to all this like a priest's blessing. Before he knew it, he was half-kneeling in front of the cage, a hand over his heart. "You saved my life, Your Highness. What's left of it, my life belongs to you now. And I know it's not much, but please accept my loyalty to you, milord."

Dumbstruck, Noctis could just stare stupidly. Then, he burst out laughing. "Hahaha. Hey, none of that court crap. No need."

Prompto blinked, the sky eyes rising up to meet the other. "But, Your Highness-"

"Hey. It's not like anyone's judging you. Just because I'm a prince, it doesn't mean you'd have to put up a show for me. Never cared for all that groveling, anyway." He chuckled lightly.

"Ehm...?"

"What's your name?" Noctis offered. "It's not really 'Rat', is it?"

As the words sunk, the blond's face lit up. "I'm Prompto. Although, these guys only call me Rat around here," he motioned towards the deck a bit awkwardly.

"Noctis Lucis Caelum of the Royal House of Caelum of Insomnia," the prince offered his hand.

"Yeah. I know, Your Highness," Prompto cracked a little chuckle.

"Enough with the titles already. Just call me Noct."

Prompto felt his cheeks heat up a little as his jaw slacked some. Then, his lips spread into a wide smile. "Sure thing, Your Hig- uhm, Noct." His grab on the hand tightened. "Nice to meet you!"


	7. What He's Worth

Chapter 6 - What He's Worth

Ignis cringed at the tasteless wooden sign hanging above the perfidious-looking flight of stairs leading down to the door. It said something about his soon-to-be conversation partner that they had wanted to meet him _here_ , of all places. Swallowing what he could of his distaste, Ignis tried to hold back from wrinkling his nose at the plain door leading into Whitewater tavern.

As soon as the wood moved out of his way, he was greeted by the brainless bangarang. Rolling his eyes at the decadent tastes of the common folk, the adviser nevertheless crossed the threshold into the shady-looking speakeasy.

He had come here for a purpose, after all; the slender fingers wrapped around the crumbled piece of paper stuffed deep into the folds of his jacket.

Not wasting a minute (equally eager to hear what the stranger had to say as he was to get out of this place, pronto!), Ignis made his way passed the tables of rowdy patrons, directly to the bar. Some eyed the oddly dressed pretty face for a longer while, muttering amongst themselves and gesturing towards the adviser, but they lost their interest quickly as Ignis painstakingly avoided making an eye contact.

There were only two members of staff in sight, only one of whom matching the criteria provided in his 'invitation'. It was clear to him that the girl's responsibility was the hall, whereas the old woman (probably her mother, judging by the telltale ginger of their hair and the inherited robust bust region, Ignis noted) kept to the counter while keeping a close eye on the maid buzzling amongst the eager audience.

Putting up the languid front, Ignis settled to the bar. The woman raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar face, but it was swiftly wiped out as the man motioned to order. With hardly more than a light scoff, she poured him a pint, and unceremoniously slammed it in front of him. "That's a toppence then, laddie," she drawled with a hint of boredom in her voice. Narrowing his eyes a little, Ignis had to almost bite his cheek to not comment on the service he was receiving, but dug out the money, anyway. With a showmanship-like gulp of his drink, mainly to please the woman and not to draw any more unwanted attention, Ignis nodded a form of thank you and made himself comfortable.

Ignis let his eyes go around the crowded pub for a while as he pretended to engross himself in his drink. His gaze stayed with a beautiful brunet with wild curls and a tanned complexion, dark eyes and a cunning smile. The woman was flaunting herself shamelessly around a game of cards, the men's collective attention now anywhere except in their game. To be fair, Ignis couldn't blame them.

Simple men had simple desires, after all.

"Say, ma'am…"

"Oh, it's a 'ma'am' now, eh? Your making Ol' Lettie here blushin', pretty lad," she chuckled a little, feigning innocence, although Ignis could tell she hadn't had an ounce left in what he believed to be decades.

"Well then, Miss-"

"Jus' call me Lettie here, lad. That's what they call me in these parts."

"Miss...Lettie, then. Say, I heard you had some...pleasurable company to offer?" Instead of money, though, he dug out the note from his pocket, pushing it along the bar in an innocuous way, just enough for her to see the neatly drawn "D" in the lower corner. Her eyebrows knit a little, a more piercing stare was fixed onto the adviser, but to his grace, Ignis barely flinched at the sudden scrutiny he was subjected to. Her face had become unreadable.

"Follow me," Lettie deadpanned, already motioning for him to circle around the bar. Ignis did, but with caution. All the warning bells in his head had gone off at the sudden standoffishness, and although Ignis allowed himself to be led, he was now tense and on edge as the woman led him through a door to the back, towards the private quarters, and the thought of this potentially being a really bad idea resurfaced in his mind again. He really had no reason to trust these people. The borderline hostile way the vague message had been delivered should have been a warning sign enough, not to mention the proposed place. And although this 'Lettie' didn't seem particularly dangerous, Ignis had the feeling the woman could hold her bluff. He could be walking into a trap, for all he knew, and yet he was welcoming that risk with open arms. For if these people were right...if they had even an ounce of information about Noct...any risk was well worth taking.

They reached an inconspicuous door leading into what Ignis presumed to be a room for the staff or the owners' private use. Lettie turned around. "Here." Ignis blinked at the tone. What had come off as almost repelling just now was now kinder, a fragility Ignis couldn't interpret lacing the words. Like the woman had trusted him with a great responsibility. It puzzled him, greatly; what had brought this change? Before he had the chance to ask, though, Lettie was already pushing passed him to return to the bar. His mouth half-open in a caught-up question, Ignis debated stopping her, but as she never even glanced behind her again, the adviser, with a soft snort, closed his jaw, and fixed the door with an interrogative stare, and knocked twice.

" _Come in."_

Gulping a little, Ignis took a deep breath to calm the sudden flutter in his heart - and pushed the door open.

The room wasn't really much to look at. Four beds, two on each wall. By each bunk's side was a small nightstand with a washbowl and towels on it, and there was a large trunk at the foot of each of them. Everything about it screamed 'commoner', and Ignis had to suppress the urge to scoff audibly.

His attention was quickly drawn from the mundane decor as the figure standing in front of the tall windows turned around. "You came." Even in the dim candle light, Ignis could now make out the features. It was, no doubt, the same person who had brought him the note, a man, he now could tell. Slender figure. Ashen blond hair and bright eyes. Dressed in commoner clothes, but of rather fine quality and tailoring, he noted. Like those of a merchant, not peasantry. The guy looked close to his age, possibly a bit older, but no other visible clues of profession or position. The man's face was an enigma as he stood facing him, calmly taking in the adviser's scrutiny as if he had been expecting nothing less - and a sliver of fear graced through Ignis as he found himself unable to deduce anything about this cryptic man.

Not used to being rendered practically helpless, the adviser had to force down a surge of primal panic; steeling himself to play this mysterious man's game, Ignis stepped closer, the emerald leer fixed on the other.

"Who are you?"

"My name," the man started with a light bow, "is Dino. A pleasure to meet you, milord."

"The pleasure is all yours, I'm afraid."

Dino gave a small laugh, but his face remained unreadable. "My, such hostility. I assure you, I mean no harm, milord."

"Am I to find your manner of invitation 'assuring' as well?" Ignis brought his arms to cross over his chest.

"I beg pardon for my impudence, milord, but-" a jestery gleam flashed in the steel eyes, "I had to get your attention somehow." Ignis' eyes narrowed.

"Who are you exactly?"

Dino shrugged, and turned his back to the man (and Ignis wanted to smack himself as a small breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding was released). "I am a nobody. But a simple man looking into acquiring an occasional item of value."

"So you're a thief?"

"A collector, if you please. Thieves are the vermin that claw for their everyday essentials. Unvisioned, more focused on finding some grubs to scavenge than the matters of true interest. I, on the other hand, know to appreciate the...finer details."

"Why am I here?" It came out sharper than Ignis had intended, but he was growing tired of dancing around the question he so desperately needed answered.

Dino whirled around on his heels, the slate eyes resolute. "You're here, milord, because you haven't lost faith, have you?" Dino was stepping closer, and a gulp slid down Ignis' throat, but he refused to back away. "You refuse to take part in the full mourning but only as an act you put up for the others. You refuse to grieve when there's still a chance. Isn't that so, milord?" The man was right in front of him, almost too close for comfort, and Ignis felt his entire back tensing. Dino seemed to take in every single detail, every twitch of a muscle as he deadpanned, "What if I told you that Prince Noctis is most likely still alive?"

The gasp had been careless, Ignis knew that as soon as the treacherous sound was out. The curious rise of an eyebrow, the pleased smirk that rose onto his peculiar company's lips were enough to tell. In that one simple gesture, Ignis had forfeited all his trump cards.

Dino's smile was shameless as he backed away, allowing the man some room. "So I have your attention, milord."

Clearing his throat, the adviser gathered himself. "Do you have any proof of this?"

"An eyewitness," the other shrugged almost disinterestedly, but Ignis could tell that it was all part of his act. He was being led on, and although he really didn't appreciate it, it was all he had to go with.

"...And what does this eyewitness have to tell me?"

"Ah, you see. That's what we're here for," Dino chimed, the tone making it clear what the man was on about. Ignis' teeth ground together.

"What do you want?"

The thief's eyes lit up, and Ignis had no clue when the man had snatched that piece of paper, but as it was flicked to gently float to the ground by his feet, Ignis felt insulted. Swallowing more than just his pride, the adviser crouched down to pick it up - and Ignis choked on his bewilderment as he took note of the scribbles and sketches on the paper; disbelieving eyes snapped back at the man.

"You can't…!" Dino simply shrugged, but that smile stayed as if plastered onto his face. "That's an heirloom."

"Yes. That stone is known to having been in the possession of the royal family for seven decades." Then, he added amusedly, "As I said, I'm a collector, milord."

"You're asking for a treason!"

"And you're asking for your prince back." The smile was suddenly gone. The man's aura that of unswaying determination, Dino fixed Ignis with a stern look. Then, that decadent smirk was back. "Just how much is he worth to you?"

Ignis had pushed himself off the floor, fingers crushing the piece of paper. Dark passion in his eyes, Ignis stalked closer ominously. His free hand was already feeling for the handle of his knife. "I could just have you arrested." Ignis grabbed a hold of Dino's collar and shoved him against the wall roughly. "I could just have it tortured out of you and be done with you."

Only when the man barely reacted did it register that Dino had _allowed_ himself to be manhandled. "Of course, you could," he deadpanned. "But that would mean you'd have to find me first, milord. And I assure you, you'll never see me after this night again. And even if you managed to find me, what is to say I would be telling the truth?"

"You'd rot alive in the dungeons, you filth!"

"Quite likely. And you would never see your prince again, milord."

And much as Ignis hated to admit it, he had to admit that this Dino was good.

His eyes blazing, Ignis reluctantly released the man as he understood he had been cornered. He could try to overpower him now, but the man could have been armed - likely was, actually. If Dino managed to escape, there was no guarantee that the guards would find him. It was quite clear that this man knew how to make himself invisible, given that he had managed to enter the palace grounds unnoticed. And if his threat was true, even if they did find him, who was to say that the answers he would get out of him were the ones he needed? Ignis' stomach turned cold; was he really reduced to this? A pawn of a common criminal.

Was he going to commit a treason for the flimsy chance of finding out what happened to Noct?

What scared him the most was, Ignis didn't know.

Dino fixed his wrinkled jacket and brushed the stray hairs out of his face. Then, crossing his arms, he cast an expectant look at the nobleman.

Ignis' eyes were on the floor but seeing nothing. His shoulders rose and fell with light, panting breaths. Edges of his lips twitched as if the man was looking for words but none ever came out. Then, the emerald gaze was slowly raised back to meet the steel, and if looks could kill...well, Dino would have dropped like a bag of potatoes.

"And if I do it?" the adviser almost hissed, his jaw tight.

"Bring me the stone, and I'll take you to the eyewitness. After that, you may proceed as you wish."

"How do you know all this?!"

Dino looked serious for a while. "In my world, Master Scientia, the valuables come in all shapes and sizes. Some are mere words. I have no intention of leading you up to me, but just know this: I am a man of my word, and am not here to deceive you, milord. All I'm asking for is a reasonable compensation, that is all. You may choose to trust me, or not. You may leave here and never see me again if you so wish. But I can promise you this: I am the last hope you have left, milord."

Ignis looked him dead in the eye. In his mind, various scenarios were criss-crossing like bees at a hive. He wouldn't have to dance to this man's wily tune. He could have the eyewitness arrested, and hear him out. He could have the entire city turned upside down until he found him. But who was to say that the person was in the city? And who was to say it was even a he he was looking for? That someone could be anyone, really, Dino had been careful not to confirm the gender. And mobilizing the guards at the time of the full mourning wouldn't go unnoticed, and even someone of Ignis Scientia's status and power would have some serious explaining to do at that point. Plus, that effort would likely be wasted, for Dino would just disappear, probably taking his witness with him, and all Ignis would be left with was dissatisfaction and his footprints in the ashes of the homes that he had destroyed. But he still didn't have to do this. He could walk away, as Dino said, and try to forget this ever happened.

And that would mean that he would lose Noct forever. With a heavy, _heavy_ sigh, Ignis' shoulders slumped as the weight of his conviction begun to settle. His tone grave, the adviser asked, "How do I get ahold of you?"

Without a word, Dino reached into the chest pocket of his coat, and pulled something out and stepped closer. Ignis didn't resist when the man grabbed his hand and pressed the item into his palm. A wave of discombobulation coursed through the adviser as he took in the small skull motif decorations of the harmonica.

"When you want to find me, come to the main market place after the midday mark. Sit on the railing of the fountain and play 'Scarborough Fair' with this. Someone will find you. Follow them. They'll lead you to me."

"You wouldn't take the risk of being seen in public yourself," Ignis sneered, not bothering to hide his loath anymore. The way he was guided along, it was almost too smooth. It was disgusting.

Dino wasn't phased, though. "Naturally, I'm afraid taking certain precautions is necessary, milord."

"Of course," Ignis' voice was venomous.

The thief shrugged as a sign that their meeting was over. "I'll be waiting for you to contact me, then. For now, though, I'm afraid I must bid you adieu." With a theatrical bow, Dino backed away towards the window. "Until next time, Your Grace."

Before Ignis had reached him, Dino had already thrown the smoke bomb onto the floor. He was forced to back away as a thick veil of smog spread across his vision in about a second. He heard the clacking of the window, but the haze was making his eyes watery, and it tickled his windpipe. Left trying to blink his eyesight back, the adviser glared at the empty space as the smoke screen evaporated. Slippery bastard. Grunting through grit teeth, Ignis nevertheless checked the alleyways behind the window, of course empty, before quickly making himself representable, and left the room.

The bartender said something to him, and absentmindedly the man tossed the woman a coin, but couldn't give less about what she had to say to him. His head foggy, Ignis flounced out of he pesky pub.

As he got out, it was all the adviser could do to not vomit as what had happened washed over him like a tidal wave. Yes, he had received the confirmation he had so desperately desired. Practically that was it. But instead of quelling his mind, that snippet had only lit aflame the ember that had been smoldering inside, and Ignis found himself tampering too close to the fire not to get himself burned. The knowledge that Noct was alive - would be alive, had to be alive - it demanded him to act on this crumble of information he had been offered.

But he had just agreed to a treason. If he would do this, if he would get caught...being disowned and driven into exile would be His Majesty's mercy. He could be executed. And even so, just imagining the disappointment of the king, Ignis regretted coming here altogether. He shouldn't listen to Dino. With this newly-found fire, he could keep up as he had. Questioning the officers again. Keep running into brick wall after brick wall. Ignis sighed, a wet sound, as he understood that he was at the end of his line. It was a do or don't for him. Carrying on as he had would get him nowhere, or at least not half as fast as he would have hoped, and he couldn't order a city-wide search without being prepared to explain himself. If he wanted to find Noctis, there was only one option for him.

The question was, would he be ready to face the consequences.


	8. Traitor

**AN: Chapter 7 - in which Ignis does something stupid, Gladio is forced to reconsider his values, and Cor is about to have an aneurysm.**

 **I took a bit of an experimental style in this chapter, I would greatly appreciate it if you told me what you think of it.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Beta read by Elillierose - thank you for the constructive feedback, too!**

* * *

Chapter 7 - Traitor

Ignis' palms are sweaty; an urge has the adviser wiping them onto his pants in lack of anything better; he lets out a shallow exhale; the beats in his chest have grown louder.

On the shelf in front of him sits a deep orange gemstone. In the low light of the torches on the walls, dark areas running up and down the meticulously polished sides make it look like the stone was made of dark fire; Ignis gulps. Then, his face steels into a look of resolve.

His entire body trembles as Ignis reaches out to grab the stone. A flicker of fear has his heart racing as the weight is lifted from the stand. The low 'yes' is but a hissed exhale.

And then a gruff voice speaks with spite:

"I can't believe you would actually do this, Scientia."

* * *

 _The young man's posture was tense as he walked briskly. Clenching a file in his hand, he stepped in long leaps, irritated if one had to describe it. His face tight and a tad moist with sweat, Ignis looked like a hare in a hound pen as he made his way along the numerous corridors._

 _The Astrals had deserted him, he swore._

 _For the entire day, as if by some wretched damn miracle, Ignis' assignments had sent him again and again to return to the vicinity of the chamber of artefacts. And to the gemstone, to be precise. It was so close - so tantalizingly close; his sin, his private ticket to paradise - but every time he had been forced to pass the heavy doors with nothing but a longing look. Either there had been witnesses (snooping around would have looked bizarre to say the least) or, as his hand had already reached for the door, his heartstrings had tugged with guilt. How could he do this? To betray the king he had sworn to serve and protect with all his being for as long as he lived? And frankly, Ignis feared that that life might be significantly shortened in the immediate near future if things went south._

 _But Noct...the man sighed again, long and deep as he rested himself against a wall. Ignis wondered with whom his loyalties truly lied. His Majesty had personally requested him to take care and watch over his son. Noct. Was it not him to whom Ignis had dedicated his life? And didn't the king's wish sort of transfer Ignis' allegiance from himself onto Noct, in a way? And hadn't Ignis already bent the boundaries of the king's patience unaccountable times by accommodating to the wishes of his wayward liege, which, undeniably, tended to be on the reckless side? When it came to choosing between the king and his prince...hadn't Ignis already made up his mind?_

 _It just had never landed him to the brink of treason before._

" _Curses...!" he hissed to himself, fist clenching. Dino's face popped into his mind again, that despicably self-indulgent smirk, and Ignis had never wanted to punch something as hard-_

" _Hey, Iggy."_

 _Ignis jumped. Honest to god leaped. With an ungraceful yelp, the advisor pushed himself off the wall as if he had been a human cannonball, and staggered for a blink of an eye as panic surged through his chest. Then, the emerald eyes snapped onto the amused features of Gladiolus Amicitia. 'Perfect' crossed his mind. A whole week without catching even a glimpse of the man since their little talk, and then he chooses_ this exact moment… _! He was quick to correct himself, though. If the royal adviser had ever learned one thing, it was putting up appearances._

" _Sorry. Didn't mean to creep up to you."_

" _That is quite alright. I must excuse myself, though, I was deep in thought." 'Please go away, please go away, please go away…'_

 _Amicitia had the audacity to chuckle. "I can see that." The way Ignis' face seemed to lose color tipped the shield off. "So, what's up? For a while, you looked like you're planning bloody murder over there."_

 _And if Ignis hadn't known better, he would have thought that the damn behemoth of a man had suddenly developed mind-reading skills, too. It took extra attention to keep the tightening of his throat from showing on his facade, but something about the way the man now looked at him, with newly awakened curiosity and drat, yes, knowing that something was off... Ignis' insides were crawling._

" _Iggy?"_

 _Blasted, the shield was definitely onto him. The man took a step closer, and despite himself, Ignis' legs were moving backwards correspondingly. And in the back of his shoulders, he felt the slightest grace of the brick._

 _The dark man must have realized he was pressuring, for he didn't make a move to come too onto his skin, but sturdy arms crossed over his chest demandingly; and backed up almost against the wall, Ignis was practically pinned by the broad presence anyway. He didn't have enough room to slip past him on either side without looking suspicious. Without looking like an escapee._

" _What's going on?"_

 _He was trapped. Gladiolus Amicitia was onto him. Of all the brutish men in the king's service, it happened to be this one with brains to go with the bulk. His mind was racing a mile a minute as Ignis went through his options. Should he tell him the truth? Gladio_ was _, above all, Noct's shield. It just_ might be _enough._

 _Correcting his posture, Ignis forced on his best poker face. Jerking his head to ask the man to come with him, he simply stated, "Not here."_

 _Whatever the shield had expected, it hadn't been this. An eyebrow risen in curiosity, Gladiolus muttered a low, curious 'alright?', and allowed Ignis to push past him. They didn't exchange a word as they made way. The lighter brunet led them down a few corridors, to a garden walkway, until he stopped in front of a door through which the shield had never gone. But as the adviser begun to fumble with something in his pocket, he understood that he was about to enter Ignis' private quarters._

 _Ignis opened the door and motioned for the shield to step in before him. He did, with a nod of gratitude. Behind him, Ignis took a moment to observe the corridor, in case anyone saw them entering together, but he saw no-one. Luckily. He only had one house's name to tarnish here. The Amicitia wouldn't have to take the walk of shame with him. What Gladiolus would make of this was up for him to decide._

" _Wow. You've got a nice place here, Iggy," the shield whistled a little as his gaze went over the neatly organized bookshelves, the half-full carafe of wine sitting next to two glasses on the side table, the collection of artworks, most of them featuring a scenery, to his slight surprise. Everything about it spelled 'sophistication', and Gladiolus snorted. It was so stereotypically Ignis that he would have taken it for a caricature if he wasn't standing in the middle of it himself._

" _Thank you." Ignis pushed the door closed and stepped farther inside, and Gladiolus noted that something had changed about him. Where he had been like he had a stick six inches up his ass just a moment ago, the man was now sliding off his jacket, his shoulders slumped and a different air around him altogether. Almost like he was...surrendered. To what, the shield couldn't begin to guess._

" _So, you care to share what's goin' on?" the interrogativeness was creeping back into the shield's tone as he cut to the chase; the arms crossed again._

" _Please, sit down," Ignis offered instead. Offer in it being relative; it had been closer to an order, and the shield evaluated that for a moment before obliging, and fixed the adviser with a calculating stare. Not saying a word, Ignis strolled over to the carafe and poured two glasses, and came to sit with him. The shield gave a low 'thank you' for the drink, but otherwise made it clear that he was expecting him to talk first._

 _Just, Ignis was really trying his patience. Fidgeting in his seat opposite to him, the man was mulling the words over and over, never once looking at the other. It went on for a moment too long. "Out with it."_

 _The tremor that went through the adviser was visible all the way to where he sat. And Ignis still refused to look at him, until: "What if I told you," he started, finally meeting the amber gaze, "that Noct is still alive?"_

 _Scratch the earlier, whatever the shield had been expecting, it wasn't_ this _! Stupefied, that was the only way to describe the look that came over him; he looked like he had just been smacked with a wet cloth. Then, the brows rose as the words sunk, before furrowing again quizzically. "I guess I'd tell you you're insane. Where did you even get something like that into your head?" He looked at him like the adviser had just lost his last marble._

" _I'm serious."_

" _Iggy. Noct's-" the shield's voice cracked, "Noct's gone," he sighed sadly._

" _That's not what I'm asking."_

" _Iggy...well, alright. I mean, sure, I'd give anything to get him back. But it's not like it'd happen…"_

 _There was a spark in the emerald eyes. "Anything?"_

" _What're you gettin' at?" Gladio demanded, slight irritation in his voice._

 _And Ignis told him everything. And when he was done, the shield's jaw was down to his knees, and he looked at the adviser with horror and disbelief. "No way." The adviser's stern expression said 'yes way'. "You can't be seriously considerin' it…!" Again, Ignis' face said what his lips didn't. "Shiva's tits, you are."_

" _I understand that it's drastic."_

" _Quite likely the understatement of the century. Iggy, it's suicide." And it was then that something occurred to the bodyguard. "Wait. Why are you tellin' me this? Don't tell me…" Ignis was definitely telling him. "No! No way, Iggy. I don't want any part in this."_

" _What are you going to do? Now you know."_

" _And sweet Shiva, I wish I didn't! Forget it, Iggy. It's insane!" the shield almost spat. "Look. Even if it was true-"_

" _It_ is _true," Ignis insisted, and somehow he just left Gladio wondering whom the adviser was trying to convince: him, or himself._

" _Even if it_ was _," the shield pushed, "then let's just find this guy. Arrest him, make him talk if there's any truth to that. Why would you have to-?" Gods, he couldn't even finish it._

" _Not possible. I considered that, and I'm afraid it wouldn't work. That delinquent is too slippery. If he suspected anything, he would be long gone before we could make contact. And," he fixed the shield with a look that said it all, "it would be impossible to mobilize more than a couple men at a time of full mourning without drawing attention."_

 _Gladiolus' heart stopped for a moment as what the man was asking sunk. "Hell no! No. I'm not doin' this!"_

" _Not even if it meant we could find Noct?"_

" _Iggy, Noct's most likely already dead, and this guy is just messin' with you! Get it together! You're smarter than this."_

" _So you're not helping me?"_

" _No. And I'm tellin' you, that's insane. You could get killed."_

 _If the man acknowledged the warning, he didn't show it. Ignis' eyes slid closed as he nodded his head. "Understood. If that is all, I must ask you to please leave now." Before the baffled man had time to argue against that, he added, "All I'm asking is, please do not mention any of this to anyone, Gladio. If I should fail, pretend like you never heard this. There's nothing linking you to any of this; your family won't have to carry the consequences." The brunet's arms have wrapped around himself, and to Gladiolus, it seemed like that subconscious gesture was the last line holding him from collapsing._

" _Iggy," there was an edge of pleading in his voice, "please don't do this."_

" _I'm afraid that is no longer an option for me, Gladio."_

" _Damn right it is! You can still stop this. Just, don't."_

" _I'm not leaving him, Gladio." There was a certain finality to that, and despite having had all those things he wanted to say to him, suddenly they all were lost to him as the shield simply looked at him, something akin to pity in the gaze._

" _Please leave."_

" _Iggy…" As the man only seemed to shrink away from him, the shield let out a sigh, and got up. "Alright. But I'm tellin' you, it's not gonna work. Don't do this. Please, Iggy." Ignis doesn't even flinch, and Gladiolus was sure that his plead, call it that if you may, hadn't hit even close. Ignis said nothing more as he left the room. He made it until the next wing of the palace before he slumped against the wall, a hand dragging through his mane fiercely. "Fuck…!"_

* * *

Ignis nearly drops the gemstone as his entire body jerks towards the source of the painfully familiar voice, the sound of his fate.

"I had hoped you'd come to your senses," Marshal Cor Leonis shakes his head a little, the slate eyes cold enough to freeze hell over twice fixed on the young man. "How long are you going to continue your dream-chasing?" Behind him, other shapes step out from the shadows, and if Ignis' heart hasn't plummeted at the sight of the Marshal, it now sinks below when he meets the disappointment of his king. The king's Shield is there, too. A part of Ignis is dying.

He opens his mouth - to protest, to explain, to lie? Ignis doesn't know himself - but nothing comes out. He stands paralyzed as the men step closer; Cor raises a hand, and more movement stirs among the shadows, guards beginning to emerge from the side doors of the chamber. Among them, the utterly dumbstruck features of Gladiolus Amicitia, and Ignis knows what's happened.

* * *

 _It was well into the dimming evening when the Immortal heard the knock on his door. Surprised, although mildly concerned, the officer told them to "Come in." The door opened with a low creak, and that person stepped in, almost sneakily as the man turned to look over his shoulder before crossing the threshold and closing the door._

" _Young Amicitia," the Marshall greeted. "I wasn't expecting to see you."_

" _Evening, Lord Marshal," the shield nodded stiffly; his eyes flicked around a bit. "Is this a bad time?"_

" _Hardly, although I can't imagine what brings you here - at such an hour," Cor snorted lightly, almost amusedly, and motioned for a bottle of whiskey sitting on his desk. "Something to take the edge off, Shield?"_

" _Won't say no to that, to be honest," the shield grinned as a hand pulled through his hair. Cor gestured for him to help himself, and Gladiolus didn't need to be told twice. "Thanks, Marshal," he raised the half-topped glass to him before downing it on one go._

 _Cor watched all this curiously. "Don't mention it. Now instead, how about you have a seat and tell me your business."_

" _I'd rather stand."_

" _Suit yourself."_

 _The young man clenched the glass in his hand, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he stared at a wall. His jaw tight, lips pulled back in a light snarl, his hand was shaking. The Immortal let him have his moment, although the slate eyes observed him keenly. Then, after a while, Gladio's lips tightened into a straight line, and he set his jaw firmly; slate met the molten amber as Gladio turned to face the officer._

" _I'm worried about Ignis Scientia, milord," his voice borderline grunt. "I think he might be getting himself into trouble."_

 _Cor's 'what-am-I-hearing' face urged him to elaborate. "I recently heard something...that Iggy's planning on doing something stupid."_

" _What are you implying, Amicitia?"_

" _I think...Ignis is planning on stealin' the Eye of Bahamut."_

 _Cor is up from his seat, palms slamming onto his desk in roughly half a heartbeat "Scientia is going to_ _ **what**_ _?!"_

 _Gladiolus told him about how he met the adviser earlier that day, and how the man had more or less explicitly confessed to planning on it. For Noct, whom Ignis still believed to be alive. Throughout his explanation, the Immortal's face had darkened, but he mostly allowed the young man to finish his story uninterrupted, only asking to clarify once or twice in between. "I told him to drop it, but he seems pretty hellbent on it, Marshal," Gladio shrugged as if given up as he finished his report. "What're we gonna do?"_

 _Cor disn't reply for a while. "If he's truly decided to act upon his whim, I would imagine him to make his move soon. We must make sure that Scientia won't suspect that he is under suspicion. He trusts you, correct? Would he assume you to keep his secret?"_

 _Suddenly Gladiolus felt like someone was shoving an icicle through his abdomen; he gulped, but the freezing burning feeling remained. "Yes, sir. He would."_

 _Leonis nodded. "In that case…"_

* * *

Ignis only realizes that Cor has come close when the Marshal makes a move for the stone. He flinches backwards, pulling the stone to his chest protectively. The Marshal snorts.

"What are you doing, Scientia?" he asks disbelievingly. "Just give me the stone, and…" His voice fades away as, instead of obliging, the addressed man withdraws further, still holding the item close, panic written all over him.

"Please stay back, Lord Marshal." Somehow Ignis manages to keep the rising panic from his voice.

"Scientia, that's enough."

"Ignis," King Regis intervenes now, unspeakable sorrow in his voice, "What are you doing, son?"

And Ignis finds that he still has heart left to break. "My liege…" he starts, his mind racing a mile a minute as he ponders what to tell him. He owes this man everything. He is doing the unspeakable still. "Tch…"

To Hell with it.

"I'm afraid...I must ask for your forgiveness. But I need to do this, in order to find Noct."

And Ignis stands firm against the 'whoosh' sweeping through the crowd. He waits for the clarity.

Cor is the first to find his voice. "What the hell are you saying, Scientia?" He sounds inconceivable, although mistaking his anger for contemplation has landed men to their early graves before. "Has your grief turned to delusion? His Highness is already-!"

"He is not dead!"

The sound had been loud, and it takes a while for Ignis to figure out that it had come from him. The realization scares Ignis a little, each crack in his carefully maintained composure an error in his books; but what was one more when he was already in over his head?

"He is not dead," he insists. Around him, people exchange puzzled, surprised looks, but Ignis pays no heed. Until:

"Ignis," Regis sounds exhausted, like this night had added years on his shoulders. And as Ignis looks at him, he sees no king, but a tired, fragile old man, brought to the edge of his grave by his own sorrow. "You have always been wise beyond your years, my boy. Have you got any proof for your claim now?"

Ignis licks his lip; instinctively he holds the stone a bit behind his back. "I...have received a word, milord. A claim that Prince Noctis could still be alive."

"Why didn't you report this?" the Marshal grunts, but the king silences him with a wave of his hand.

"With all due respect, milords: would you have listened to me?"

Regis' frown deepens. "Who is your source?"

He doesn't reply immediately. "I...can't expose the identity, Your Majesty." If he did, he would lose him forever. Would lose Noct forever. "They have...contacted me privately. It is intended to be kept so."

Regis' gaze is piercing. "And I suppose they told you to steal the Eye of Bahamut. Isn't that so, son?" Ignis' tightening grip of the stone is enough of an answer. The monotonous hum lets out nothing, but the monarch's face darkens.

Ignis doesn't dare to breathe. Behind him, the soldiers are just waiting for the order. Ignis doesn't know if he should fight them. No matter what the outcome of that short struggle would be, it still stands that he is done for. And it actually amazes him how he isn't more scared.

Finally, the king lets out a desolate breath, and shakes his head.

Reading something from that gesture, Cor signals his men. Ignis has enough time for exactly one yelp before he is already being pushed down on his knees; someone forces his fist to unclench, and a strained groan leaves the brunet as he feels the stone slipping.

Someone pulls his head backwards a little, forcing him to look at the ruler as one of the soldiers hands him the gemstone. Ignis' teeth grit as he struggles to breathe, each intake quivering and shallow.

Regis is gazing at the stone, deep in thought. "And did it never once occur to you that you just might be used? That in your grief, you would turn to desperation? How likely do you think this 'information'-" - Ignis hates the tone in that stressing - "could possibly be, when three high officers have all confirmed what happened?" He held a sorrowful pause. "Confirmed the death of my son."

"But what if they're wrong, Your Majesty?" Ignis insists.

"All three of them? Under an oath?"

The adviser swallows deep. He can sense where this is going. Fear starts to creep up his throat.

"I understand that you're grieving, Ignis, we all are, and that you'd want to hold onto hope. But it leaves you vulnerable to temptation. As a man of your intellect, you should know this, and I expected more of you. And despite your reasoning, it still stands that you have committed what can only be regarded as treason." The king takes a deep breath before fixing the young man with a troubled look. Unwavering, and yet all Ignis sees in it is apology. Ignis shivers. He knows what's coming.

"I cannot overlook such an act, Ignis. Not even for you." Ignis' shoulders have dropped, he hangs his head. "As of today, you are banished from the kingdom of Lucis, under pain of death. I strip you of your nobility, and of any claim to my favor."

His world shatters like a mirror dropped onto concrete. And yet all he hears inside is 'for Noct'. "Wait, milord! I don't care what happens to me, but I beg of you, hear me out! He is still alive! I know it!"

"And how could I, if you refuse to tell me your intel?"

"If there was still hope left, Your Majesty," Ignis demands fiercely, "hope that Noct was still alive - wouldn't you take it, milord?!" he almost shouts. "Wouldn't you pursue it for as long as there was a chance?!"

Regis looks at him, really _looks_ at him, like he was seeing him for the first time. And for the life of him, Ignis cannot interpret the cavalcade of emotion shifting across his king's face. From slight bewilderment to wonder to annoyance to determination to levelheadedness - it's all there. And Ignis cannot say what the man is thinking.

When the king speaks, it is heavy, and pain-ridden."You must think I'm heartless, my boy. I have grieved for Noctis, deeply, and will continue to do so until the end. But now is not the time for that. The war is coming. After the next new moon, I'll be sailing to Accordo myself, and meet the opposition they have gathered. Because my son was murdered." He believes it, Ignis can tell. The king has truly lost hope. "I have no time for chasing dreams." Regis casts one last heartbroken look at the young man, and turns from him. "Take him away."

Hands grab him, and it takes a moment for Ignis to begin to struggle. "No! No, milord! Listen to me!" He's kicking and thrashing as two guards drag him away. "He's not dead! I need to go to him!"

"He is not dead!"

Gladiolus is left to stare stupidly as Ignis is forcibly dragged away. They could hear his pleads even after he's long gone from their view; amber shifts towards the Immortal, and it doesn't really surprise him that Cor is looking at him, too.

He hadn't expected to see the heartbroken look on the Marshal, though. Without a word, the shared gaze communicating all the emotion the men couldn't word, Cor walks up to him; a hand is laid onto the shield's shoulder, and the Marshal gives it a firm squeeze before he pushes past him, and doesn't look back.


	9. Moth to the Flame

**AN: Chapter 8 - where we finally get to know what Leviathan's Fin is and get a glimpse of Aranea's real goal. Also, Noctis is getting restless and the little thief's curiosity lands him into trouble.**

 **I had so much trouble with this chapter! It was started from the scratch twice, and the latter half was also revised twice. =.=' I'm still not entirely happy with it, but I guess it's good enough.**

 **Beta read by Elillierose**

* * *

Chapter 8 - Moth to the Flame

The slightly intoxicated and buoyant chanting made nervous chills run along Prompto's arms. At the other end of the large table, one by one, the other men eagerly joined in on the rising notes of a shanty, one of the crew's favorites:

 _Stick 'em in a scuppers with a hosepipe on 'em  
Stick 'em in a scuppers with a hosepipe on 'em  
Stick 'em in a scuppers with a hosepipe on 'em  
Earl-eye in the morning_

The dining cabin came alive with the row as the chorus rolled in, the men singing their hearts away in an off-key chorale, until they quieted down again, to wait for the next person to come up with a verse for the others to repeat.

 _Heave 'em up to wake up in Crow's nest  
Heave 'em up to wake up in Crow's nest  
_…

Prompto wasn't singing, though. Trying to focus on his bowlful of soup the best he could, the blond sternly avoided any and all eye contact with the other end of the table. Not that he didn't know the song - not possible, given how often the crew had broken into singing it over the past two months. But since what had happened the other day, since the incident that had led up to the swift and permanent removal of their first mate...Prompto hadn't been too ecstatic over spending extra time socializing with his fellow patrons. Very much the opposite, really. The less the others paid attention to him, the better. Trying to make himself as small as possible, the kid all but gobbled up his measly meal. He wanted to be done and be out of here, pronto.

The loud hollering rang out again as the chorus came around, before most fell back to wait for a new cue. ' _Throw him to the hungry sharks for dinner_ ,' the poisonous voice inside offered, and he sneered mentally at the bunch of them. He said nothing though, and another, wheezing and raspy voice replaced him ( _Tie 'em to the mast an' wet 'em all over…_ ), and the crew kept going. It suited Prompto just fine.

He let out a small, timid sigh. His entire upper back was tight with the constant being on the edge, the readiness to fight and flee in case they would turn on him at any given moment. Logically, rationally, he knew that they had no reason to. The captain had made it clear that she wasn't onto his skin about what had happened, and he didn't think that the crew would go as far as to go behind their captain's back, especially with a reminder of her flaring temper fresh in their minds. But, unfortunately, for these men, Prompto himself constituted a reason enough. And not harming him permanently didn't mean not harming him any. They had ganged up on him, pushed him to the corner and grilled him about what had happened, questions Prompto didn't have answers for. He hadn't escaped it unscathed. His right cheek and lower abdomen were still a bit sore to the touch, but at least the men seemed to have gotten their fun out of him for the time being. No-one seemed to pay him heed as he quickly finished with his bowl and got up from the bench like it had suddenly caught on fire. Sparing a glance behind him, in case anyone took a note of him - no-one did - Prompto all but tiptoed to the cabin door and, with one more wary glance behind him, slipped out.

As the door closed behind him, he again froze to listen for any steps that might come after him, after all. He listened for closer to three minutes, but as all he heard was a new shanty starting, and the guffaws of the men as their levels of promilles increased, Prompto let out a sigh of relief, and his shoulders slowly came down. Massaging his injured cheek, only to come to regret it immediately as the sting flared across his face again, the blond hissed under his breath, and threw a dirty glare towards the dining cabin door. He was sure he was in for this shit at capricious times for at least until they made it to Deepsword, and the men got themselves something else to think about.

But the mere thought of their untimely destination made his stomach flip unpleasantly as the urgency made itself known to him again. He wasn't the only one on hot coals around here.

As the kid, now with antsiness in his step, made it towards the staircase leading to the cargo hold, he froze mid-step as he caught the figure in the corner of his eye. On the deck, leaning against the railing and seemingly not having noticed him yet, lounged the ladycaptain. She was gazing at the stars, and even from that far, Prompto could see that she was holding something out in front of her. Something that emitted a cold, shimmering glow against the surrounding darkness.

He really shouldn't.

But it had never been in his nature not to grasp a chance when one presented itself to him. Prompto had a vague idea what it was that the captain was holding, and after everything that had happened, like a moth, he couldn't help his curiosity drawing him towards the flame. He wanted answers. He had damn near lost his life over the questions, after all.

Backing up to the other edge of the ship, Prompto kept to the shadows and stayed low to conceal his silhouette behind the cannons. Almost crawling along the night-darkened deck, he inched closer, trying to stay hidden and keep his body out of her line of sight behind the mast. His heart thrummed against his ribcage, the beats getting stronger and stronger as he crouched behind the supply crates. This would look bad if he was caught. There was no way he could explain himself. But, he couldn't help himself as the temptation grew to be too much. Taking a deep breath, Prompto leaned to peek out of his hiding place.

On her palm, Aranea held the sphere-like object he had seen on Wedge. The Wayfinder, that must have been it then. Aranea's complexion looked ashen and her silver locks took a ghastly shade of ocean as the cold yet beautiful light shone from within the sphere. And even in the feeble light, Prompto could see that the object was moving.

Around the shimmering core, a fin-shaped plate that looked like it had been planted onto the sphere at both polars revolved around and around the orb frantically, back and forth, almost restlessly. Like it was trying to decide which direction to go to. It was like a gyroscope, or...a compass needle gone haywire. Prompto gasped quietly.

' _An island you cannot find if you don't know where it is.'_

From the depths of his subconsciousness, Hardy's words from weeks ago resurfaced. The old man had been telling him about sailors' legends, the riches beyond one's imagination. The relics of the Six, priceless treasures said to have been left behind by the Astrals themselves when the gods had left Eos, to ascend from the earth to the heavens before the time of men. The Eye of Bahamut, a gemstone that was said to hold the power to cleanse and purify any that has been tainted. The Ifrit's Horn, a cornucopia that ensured amiable weathers and brought a good harvest. The Titan's Hammer, a mace that was supposed to be able to bring down entire mountains and splinter the earth. The Fulgurian Staff, a rod with a blessing to ward off the evil. The Breath of Shiva, the power to heal any ailment plaguing the planet. And, what had interested Prompto the most...the Leviathan's Fin. Said to have once been cut off of the very goddess' own flesh, Her scepter was rumored to hold the power to bend the very ocean to its will. The waters, the creatures, the tide. Even the storms. All-creation, nature and creatures alike, enslaved to the will of the Fin.

" _But with something like that, you could control everything, right?"_

" _Yes, m'boy. But with a terrible price does Her power come. It's said tha' the scepter drives its wielder mad. That they'll be engulfed by the scorn of the Tidemother when she tore it off Herself."_

" _M-mad?"_

" _Yeah, kid. Ye no longer can tell ye friends from yer foes, can no longer decide what's right or wrong. All ye know ever again is yer own hate, and the pain of Her wrath."_

" _That's...horrible." The older man blinked a little, a curious eyebrow rising. "Why would the Tidemother leave such a cruel thing behind Her?"_

 _Hardy looked at the kid's thoughtful expression keenly for a while; then, the chapped lips cracked and he cackled goodnaturedly. "All of 'em be just stories, laddy. Ye don't need to worry about losin' yer shuteye o'er it." Prompto chuckled, too, scratching the back of his neck a bit awkwardly._

" _Yeah, I know. But I mean...think about if it was true, though. That thing would destroy them, wouldn't it?"_

 _Hardy's face got more serious again; obviously the kid wasn't going to let this go. Snorting lightly, he shook his head a little. "And ye'd be right about tha', lad. There is no end to Tidemother's fury. Her spite is with us, lad, in every storm we brave, in every wretched calm in our sails...She's a cruel mistress, laddy, it's Her we've got to thank fer it," he had started rambling, but Prompto still clung onto every word eagerly. Only as the man seemed to realize he had trailed off did his mouth all but snap shut. But the earnest look in the kid's eyes...the old sailor let out an amused, snorty chuckle._

" _But She hid it well, lad. It's said to lie beyond the reach of any mortal man. On an island ye cannot find unless ye know where it is. No-one has never seen a glimpse of it, the Fin's jus' a legend. I hear many have spent their lives searchin' fer it. Fer its destructive power."_

" _Destructive power...you're saying it's a weapon?"_

 _The man paused to let out a deep sigh; then, he cast the boy a look - a somewhat solemn, warning look._

" _I'm happy they didn't find it," Prompto's gaze had lowered onto his lap. "If it's such a cursed thing...I'm happy it says hidden."_

 _Hardy's eyebrows rose in surprise as he looked at the kid. Then, the small grin was back on his face as he shook his head, resting a hand onto his friend's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "So am I, kid."_

Prompto's gaze was on the floor but he was looking at nothing; a fond smile had crept onto his lips at the remembrance. 'Hardy...I hope you're in a better place...'

The groaning creak of the ship brought him back with a slight startle, and the kid pressed his back against the crate as he peered at the lonesome figure. The plate revolved around the eerie-looking core with almost dizzying speed, like the fin was trying to tear itself free from the axis. The ladycaptain's face was unreadable as she now gazed at it. "...we're getting closer. You can feel it too, right?" Her mutter had been to herself, but Prompto had just caught it nonetheless.

'Getting closer? To what? Deepsword? And the hell is that thing, how is it _feeling_ anything?!' the blond thought nervously as he withdrew back to his hiding. There was a rapid tremor of pulsing in his chest, and he had to make an effort not to let his breaths get louder. Whatever he had seen, had heard...that wasn't a good sign. The way that thing _glowed_...Prompto had seen fireflies glow, and natural phosphor, but this was nothing like that. The way that sphere seemed to hold light inside it, he had never seen anything like that. It was unnatural light, too. Cold. Elusive, if you asked him. It made his stomach tickle in an unpleasant way. And the captain had said that it can _feel_...almost as if...as if it was alive. And that weird fin shape on it, too...

An island you cannot find unless you know where it is...

'Don't tell me…' A violent tremor ran down the thief's spine, a gulp sliding down his pipe.

Was the captain looking for the Leviathan's Fin?

Suddenly terrified more than anything, Prompto momentarily almost forgot that he was supposed to stay hidden. In his moment of panic, he tried to scramble up. As he flailed a little, his elbow accidentally slammed against the cargo container.

The hiss of pain that slipped out of him was drowned under the bang. But as Prompto regained control of his mouth again, as the sting in his elbow already begun to ebb away, it occurred to him that it had become awfully quiet. His gulp seemed like a shout in the unnerving stillness that had befallen upon the deck.

His heart hammered double-time to the haunting sound of heels clacking against the boards, coming closer. His mouth ran dry, the moisture gathering into his palms and the back of his neck instead. He could hear the light humming of the captain - a false comfort, that sing-sung voice that stalked him like a predator - as the steps rounded the containers. There was the barely audible 'shiiiing' of a blade being drawn.

Prompto couldn't move. He couldn't _breathe_. In a last-ditch effort, he tried to mask his terror; faking an annoyed look the best he could muster, he went to rub his elbow almost vigorously. The steps were upon him.

"Well, well. What have we here." Vaguely Prompto made out the slight movement of her hand as she, apparently, sheathed her blade.

"Oh, uh, hi there, cap'n." She didn't look amused. Arms crossed over her chest demandingly.

"What are you doing here, Rat?"

Faking the blank look the best he could, Prompto forced a timid snort. "I, uh, nothin', cap'n. I was sleepin'. Tossin' a bit, too, apparently," he tried to toss, gesturing towards his elbow and rubbing it as if trying to smooth an ache. Aiming for casual, only coming out as nervous and artificial instead.

Aranea all but rolled her eyes as her lids narrowed into a glare. "Ever so terrible at lying, I see." Faster than Prompto had time to react, she had snatched his vest and pulled him closer. "How much did you see?" she hissed into his face, her slate eyes alive with lightning as she pinned the boy to the spot.

"N-nothing." His response couldn't have been more badly formulated, Prompto came to understand, as the captain's expression darkened. "I was lookin' at the stars and fell asleep!" he quipped in an attempt to make up for his blunder.

"Get up!" She was already hauling him up. Now facing the captain, Prompto noted, much to his chagrin, that she was very close to him, too. Very, _very_ close to him. An instinct had him backing away, to regain some personal space, but the firm yank on his chest held him where he was. "The rats on this ship are becoming a real nuisance, I see. Why is it that I keep running into you at every turn, lately?"

His act was dropping fast as the primal urge to get away crept up to replace his feeble cool. "I dunno whatcha talkin' about-!" The rest of it died in his throat as the hand moved from his vest, to wrap around his neck - and started squeezing. Instinctively, his hands immediately went to the chokehold, to try to wring the hand off as panic bursted inside of him in the form of an adrenaline rush that demanded him _to_ _fight_. The captain's hold was much stronger than he had anticipated, though; he was clawing and scratching at the arm, but Aranea's fierce expression barely even faltered, and if so, it was for the irritation.

His fight was slammed out of him in two powerful shoves against the crates; Prompto's arms dropped to hang limply at his sides like ropes as the fingers completely cut off his airway, with enough force that it was a miracle the captain hadn't crushed his windpipe. Momentarily dazed with the shrill white noise in his head and gagging desperately for air, Prompto could feel his strength draining from him rapidly. One hand rose back to try to pry his assailant away, but it was weak and did hardly anything but rested on her iron grip. He had trouble keeping his eyes open, his vision swam, the captain's features blurring before him.

Aranea pressed herself against the pinned boy, close enough that Prompto could feel her breasts through the clothing, to whisper into his ear: "Whatever you think you saw, kid, it doesn't matter." Prompto let out a cut-off grunt as the fingers dug a bit deeper into his skin. "I can't have you snoopin' around, though," she said it so casually, like it was something pleasant to her. Like those weren't her fingers that were currently strangling him. "Let's go."

In a flash, the chokehold was gone, and nothing else registered for a moment as the blond drew in air in voracious gulps. He coughed and hacked, the strain making his sore throat flare up at the tremors that raked across his torso. Too soon, though, there was a pressure on his wrist; Prompto didn't have time to protest before his hand was already yanked into his back harshly, and Aranea's other hand grabbed his other arm, shoving him forward. He staggered on lead legs, his limbs not obeying him as his world spun, bokeh shapes of darkness dancing across his vision for a moment. The next hard shove would have sent him stumbling down if it wasn't for the hold of his arms.

"Move it!"

It occurred him to resist, to try to lock his legs and push back, as his head cleared enough for everything to not look like he was under water. He tried to jerk his hands free, only to have her nails digging into his flesh a little as her hold tightened. Despite his efforts, he was still marched to the stairs, and forced the way down into the cargo hold.

* * *

Prince Noctis lied on the straw-littered floor of his confinement, arms folded under his head, a knee pulled up and his other leg resting on it, and a vacant look on his face. His eyes were open, but the little light that the sole lantern sat in the corner offered didn't provide much to look at. Just the fishing nets, the harpoons and the whaling hooks on the walls, what looked like rods for hanging the catch, and the shapes of the containers littered around the hold. He had counted the dark spots in the ceiling at least five times already, too. He was still undecided if it was 182 or closer to 176, though; he had lost count at some point every time.

The even creaking and craning of the ship was lulling him into relaxation, but the prince wasn't sleepy. There was a nasty, tickling feeling rising up his throat. Like tendrils that crept higher slowly, like a spider approaching the fly in her net. He let out a low grunt of worry, his jaw tightening.

He knew their time was running out. They must have been getting closer to the Escape, if the crew's enthusiastic bragging was anything to go by, and Noctis was growing more and more anxious. Wedge - and later Prompto too - hadn't been exactly subtle about what was going to happen once they made landfall. What would await for him in that nest of parasites and plunderers. He hadn't dared to delve into it, though, not in detail. Imagining the possible outcomes of that, having come to decide that it wasn't going to be anything pleasant. But what was he to do but wait? He was stuck here! He wasn't even allowed to stroll on the deck, and his limbs were stiff from the lack of use. A quiet sound made it out of him as the thought surfaced, of whether he would be able to walk when the time came. He heard the blond's promise in his mind again:

" _I'm gonna get you out of here, Your Highness."_

Noctis sighed, an irritated edge to it. Appreciative as he was of the blond's efforts - seeing as his unlikely ally could actually end up being his best chance at making it out of this mess - would it be too much to ask of him to hurry the fuck up?! No pressure here; just, he really didn't fancy being made a public sport for a bunch of buccaneers if he could avoid it.

The prince's trail of thought was swept away as the sounds of struggling reached his ears. The steps were coming closer to the stairs and as he listened, the descending thumps joined the grunts and the shuffling sounds. And, Noctis' heart skipped a beat as he recognized something familiar in them.

The dark eyes widened as the shapes got close enough for Noctis to make out the posture, the height, the lankiness of at least one of the newcomers. As they got to the edges of the circle of light, he could make out the hay-colored hair that stuck into the sheened face a little, the light snarl and the disturbing angle of the shoulder. Something was wrong with the blond's step, too. Like his legs weren't supporting his weight.

Prompto struggled lightly as he was pushed forward. Noctis had scrambled to sit up, his jaw slacking before the tiny voice inside rashly screamed at him to keep his cool. So forcing on the indifferent air, the raven faked mild curiosity as the captain swiftly forced Prompto's chest against the bars, and pinning him there with her own weight, started fumbling with the key.

The name was almost out before Noctis could stop himself as the little blond was pushed in, where he landed with an ungraceful thud, the twitch of what was supposed to have been a lurch forward raking through him like electric currents. Gulping down, as subtly as he could, his gaze slid a little, to see the look of glee on the captain's face, and he sent a silent thank you to the Six. Apparently the captain had just missed his blunder. Masking his sigh of relief into a snort, Noctis cocked his head. "Hey." Blinking a little, the captain turned to give him a sardonic look. "Is it just me, or does this jackhole triumph in landing himself in shit?" he tossed out, jerking his head towards Prompto.

Aranea actually chuckled at that. "You know it. The kid's a natural." Noctis tried really hard not to let the tightening of his jaw to show. From the corner of his eye he could tell how incredibly stiff Prompto had gone; he also tried really hard to ignore the sting for it.

"What'd he do this time?" It was almost physically painful, the way his lips spread into that taunting smile.

But the captain seemed to be honestly amused by the prince's dislike to his changing accommodation arrangements. She let out a small little laughter, flicked a strand of hair behind her ear, then grabbed a hold of the bar and leaned herself almost indulgingly against the frame, the savage eyes never leaving the blond, who had sat on his knees but kept his back turned, tension written all over his shoulders. "A lil' Rattie needs to know its place," she tossed out, her voice slicing. "This' just to keep him outta more trouble." If it hadn't been Aranea, if it had been said under any other circumstances, Noctis would have mistaken it for caring about him.

"So you dump him with me."

Aranea's only reply was a scoff, and a light shrug of just one shoulder, a silent 'what you gonna do about that'. "I would hardly think you're in any position to give me orders, 'Your Highness'. Dammit, why was it that every time that woman said that, a shiver ran down his spine?! "You boys play nice now." And with a toodle-oo wave of her hand, she turned on her heel, her movement almost like dancing as she swept across the hold, her figure fading out of sight before the steps at the stairs could be heard. Noctis swore under his breath.

Next to him, Prompto sat a bit hunched over, feeling for his abused neck. A soft hiss of discomfort slipped out, interrupted by a coughing fit that irritated his sore throat further. His gaze was in the floor.

"You alright?" Noctis asked, a hint of concern in his voice; he had scooted closer.

Prompto visibly twitched. "Yeah, I'm good," he replied a bit gaspily. "No need to worry about me, Highness."

Noctis refused the urge to roll his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you, you don't need to call me that? And don't give me that 'I'm good' bull," he huffed.

"Did she hurt you?" The reply he received was a low 'uh-uhn', and Noctis' brows furrowed. Prompto refused to look at him. He didn't...really think he meant what he said, did he? Surely Prompto knew it was just banter? But the way he was practically turned a cold shoulder, the raven's insides knotted a little.

"Hey Prompto?"

"Y-yeah?"

"You know, I...didn't mean it like that, right? All about you getting yourself into shit a lot and all?" It was subtle, but the way his head twitched ever so slightly, Noctis knew he had hit the mark.

"Nah. Of...of course not," the blond chuckled, still rather forced, but at least he shook his head in a bit more relaxed way. "Just, all in the name of the game…"

Frowning, Noctis studied him. Whatever life Prompto had lead, it had left him to fear people. It seemed like the blond would rather push away than allow near him, and for a moment Noctis pitied him. He had always had people around him 24/7. His father's officials and the court, Ignis and Gladio since he was old enough to hold a wooden sword. Iris. Nyx. The entire palace staff and their children. But Prompto...whom had he had? He thought about what the blond had told him about living with the orphans - practically taking care of the younger kids, that's what it had sounded like to Noctis - and just trying to make it to the next day...

He would never, _could_ never understand living like that. Like a dog, on the streets and frowned upon by everyone. In constant fear of someone coming and taking it all away, just because they weren't wanted around others. Then again, taking a glance at his own prison, Noctis felt like he could understand a little. That maybe they weren't hailing from entirely different setouts, after all. Captain Highwind...they were both here because of her. That same constant of looking over his shoulder had become his way of life as well. Just, he couldn't fathom how one was to deal with it on a daily basis. Prompto...he had never known anything else.

If they got out of this- no! _When_ they got out of this...Noctis would make sure Prompto had a place to be.

It was the least he could do.

"So, uh, we good?"

It wasn't immediate, but eventually Prompto finally faced him, his face one of embarrassment crossed with gratitude, and he nodded, a small grin breaking onto his lips. "Yeah."

"Good," Noctis grasped his shoulder lightly, and immediately felt the light jolt in his hand. Taking the hint, he didn't let it linger, but made sure to recapture the gaze as he added, "I need you, Prompto."

Prompto was blissfully unaware of the way his jaw slacked, or how his eyes had widened. All that was clear to him was the heat, rising onto his cheeks all the way to to the ears. There was a prickling sensation on his face, and he would have wanted to swipe at it. "R-really?"

"Yarly," Noctis smirked lazily. "I can't do this alone."

Gulping slightly, the blond's lips narrowed into a thin line, a slight crease forming onto his forehead, and he nodded. "Gotcha." 'Just, now we're both stuck in here! Great job, Prompto,' the inner voice reminded him snidely, but Prompto shoved it aside. He felt bad enough about it as it was.

"So, uh, what happened?" Noctis backed away to sit against the cell bars.

"Uhm…" Prompto started, but didn't know how to continue. The truth was nothing short of embarrassing. "I, uh, might have seen something I perhaps shouldn't have," the blond admitted bashfully; Noctis blinked, cocking his head.

"Like what?"

Prompto was about to answer when it caught into his throat. Was he seriously going to tell him that he thought that the captain was after a mere myth? How idiotic would that sound? "Actually...nevermind," he avoided his eyes.

"Hey. You can't just stop halfway," Noctis scolded him lightly. "It's not like it wasn't important if it got you here."

"Uh, right," Prompto chuckled timidly and shot the other a contemplating look. Should he just tell him? Seeing as it probably couldn't make the situation any worse, and also seeing that Noct had a point, now that he thought about it, Prompto told him about what he had seen, about the unnatural glow that orb emitted and how the captain had talked about it, had said that the thing could feel something, almost as if it was a living thing. And he told him what he had heard about the island that couldn't be found if you didn't know where it was and the relics of the Six. Noctis listened, his brows furrowing, and Prompto grew restless under that dark gaze again. Would the prince even believe him? It all seemed so surreal, even to himself. "So, yeah…" he trailed off, not really an actual attempt of communication as much as it was one to try to break the silence that had descended.

Noctis simply looked at him for a while, his face unreadable. When he spoke, Prompto could hear the cogs turning in the other's head. "I've...never heard of Leviathan's Fin before." And Prompto felt like giving up already, wanting to apologize for his carelessness and his silly superstition, when the prince continued, "But my father has this stone called the Eye of Bahamut. It's an heirloom, I guess, since my great-grandfather." The lighter set of eyes widened a fraction, Prompto's breath catching as he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Never heard it would hold some power, though," the prince snorted finally, offering the other a weak grin. One that the blond had a little trouble returning.

"Yeah," he finally managed. "What do you know."

* * *

Prompto's gaze was lifted with a quiet groan as the ship careened to the side. Getting onto his knees, he rolled his shoulders a couple of times, trying to ease the stiffness in them from sleeping on nothing but hay. Or trying to. He had barely caught an eyeful, he presumed. He was exhausted. The cold and the anticipation had kept him awake, only ever allowing him to doze off, each louder creak or distant sound of none-existent footsteps had him wide awake instantly, his back tense and instincts running on overdrive as he waited for someone to come for them. Only as he was certain that it had been a false alarm, or that he had imagined it, had the blond settled back to wait for the dreams. But the closest he had come had been restless shifting and vague in-between space of wakefulness and sleep.

If he felt like this after just one night, he couldn't begin to imagine what it was like for Noctis. Glancing at the direction of the prince, he saw him lying closeby, curled up into a small ball. His eyes were still closed and his ribcage moved in steady back-and-forths of sleep. The blond let out a small huff. "Well, glad that one of us is sleeping well," he muttered to himself as he straightened his back a little before slumping to sit against the bars, knees drawn to his chest and arms wrapped around them loosely. He let out a deep breath, his shoulders dropping as he allowed his head to lul back against the metal.

They were in serious trouble. The sky eyes trailed towards the symbol of their imprisonment, a thoughtful furrow forming between his brows. It didn't look that complicated; he was pretty sure he could pick it...if only he had something to pick it _with_. 'Note to self, Prompto: next time you get yourself busted, make sure you carry a nail or something.' Realizing his helplessness, Prompto hissed sharply, slamming his fist into the floorboards. "Dammit!"

It was the sudden jerky motions, the way the hull rocked back and forth as if trembling, that snapped the younger man's attention to the invisible movements somewhere above them. It was enough to rouse Noctis from his slumber, too. Blinking a few times, the dark head swished around as if he was trying to determine where he was before the dark gaze landed onto the blond, and the raven let out a sigh, seemingly relaxing a little. "Hey."

The other didn't answer. And as the remnants of sleep slowly shedded did Noctis realize that Prompto had gone awfully tense. "Prompto?"

He was looking up, so sternly it made the raven uncomfortable. "What's going on?"

The steady creaks of the wood had grown slower and longer from just moments ago. Prompto's face was losing color.

"Oh crap!"

"What?" Noctis couldn't help asking, although he didn't know if he wanted to have that answered.

Prompto gulped. "I...think we're there."

* * *

 **AN2: Thank you for reading Leviathan's Fin! I hope you're enjoying it. I promise, this was the last boring chapter of world-building for a while, the next ones will have a lot more action in them. A fair warning, though, I dunno when I can get to them, I have a couple of request pieces on the way, so they take priority. But it will! I'm excited about telling this story to you guys, it's really taking shape. ^^**


	10. Out of the City

**AN: Hiyoo! How's everyone been? I've had an awesome week - fiance and I held a joined birthday party last weekend, with laser tag and escape room and all the jazz, and these past few days I've been just exhilarated. I hope you guys are doing good, too.**

 **However, I have less nice, news, too I'm afraid. Some of you might have noticed it before, but I'm now officially announcing that I'm planning on ditching FFnet. I've grown sick and tired of the site's content regulations (frankly, a few of my smut** **fics would be enough to have me banned so I'm just waiting to be kicked, really) and the constant bugs FFnet has.  
**

 **I don't want anyone to feel like Im not appreciating you guys, I do. I really do. I will keep posting Fin here, too, and any other WIP I have started. Just, I've deemed Ao3 to function so much better. You're welcome to follow my Ao3 or Tumblr if you feel like you don't wanna miss out on anything. My Ao3 nickname is the same, and a link to my Tumblr can be found from my profile. Sorry about this, but I'm about done with this site. FFnet will remain as a backup, and I'm not deleting anything I already have here, but I'm not promising I'll keep this as updated, either.**

 **Sorry about this, guys! I really love it that you're enjoying my work so much, but I'm getting tired of this platform. As soon as FFnet gets its s*** together, we have no problem anymore.**

 **Now! Onto the chapter. In which Ignis is a little damsel in distress.**

 **Beta read by Elillierose, as usual.**

* * *

Chapter 9 - Out of the City

The solitary man lets out a deep sigh. He allows his head to tilt further back against the brick as his eyes slide close. Sitting both knees drawn to his chest, Ignis wraps his arms around his legs.

It's cold. As the night has deepened, the lowering temperature has crept into the stones, nesting there like a spider waiting for its chance to surprise him when he would let his guard down. Shivers run along his back in endless strings. His teeth chatter lightly.

He's exhausted, but his mind remains crystal-clear, ignoring the fatigue and the aches of his body as all he can think of is: he has failed.

He has failed Noct, and he has failed himself. He has failed his king, his comrades, his uncle. In a lot of ways, he has even failed that blasted damn man Dino, but out of all his regrets, that one bothers him the least.

And yet, that despicable grin, that false camaraderie the man had offered, all of it stands as the culmination of his blunder, curse him! Without Dino, Ignis would have next to no chance of ever knowing peace as the unknownness of what happened to Noct would haunt him forever. The thought of what happens to him now -exiled, probably to die in the wild- seems insignificant in comparison.

His right arm still throbs with the ebbing pains, the forever reminder of his treason fresh on both his mind and his flesh. The ugly V-shaped marring where the white-hot kiss of the iron dishonored him. "V". For _verecundia_ , Old Solheimean for 'shame'. The evidence of his shame, his punishment for acting out of his place.

The king wasn't to be blamed for his suffering, though. His Majesty was simply cleaning the trash out of his sight so that he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

Ignis would never be able to look at himself.

He lets out a mix of a sob and a sigh, and rests his forehead against a knee. Alone and cold, Ignis sends out a silent prayer. For Noct to be alright, and that he would find his way back home.

And that he would forgive him.

For not being there to see him return. For not being able to get him back sooner.

Suddenly, there is a loud echo of a crash and shuffles; Ignis gasps in surprise. There are sounds of a struggle. The guards fighting perhaps? Ignis is well aware of the gambling and drinking problem amongst the soldiers; perhaps a dispute? Hoping dearly that the intoxicated men wouldn't decide to take their anger out on their ward, Ignis presses his back tighter against the cold stone, ignoring the bite of it, and a small grunt slips out at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Bracing himself, Ignis stands up. If they expect him to lay down and simply allow them to beat him, they would be sadly mistaken. He would face them with what pride he has left, at least. As the steps reach his cell, Ignis' shoulders tense.

"Iggy?" A sharp hiss, gravelly and low. Ignis gasps at the recognition.

"Gladio?"

The man steps out of the shadows to stand before his cell, and pulls back the large hood to reveal the features. Gladiolus Amicitia, and Ignis doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He hadn't expected Gladio to care enough to come to say goodbye.

Ignis' shoulders drop with a broken sigh. "What are you doing here, Gladio?"

The shield doesn't answer him, not immediately. He folds his arms over his chest and just looks at him, his expression one of disbelief and regret, and Ignis finds himself feeling uncomfortable under that intense stare.

"So. Here we are," Gladio sighs, shaking his head as his eyes drop to the ground.

It's an odd thing to say; Gladio has been well aware of his intention from the start, after all. "Yes. I suppose so," Ignis half-asks, expecting the man to elaborate.

"I didn't think you'd really do this, Iggy. Dumb doesn't suit ya."

The adviser raises an offended eyebrow. "I don't think my intelligence has anything to do with it, Gladio."

"I know. Just, seeing the ever-uptight you actually going out of your way to steal that stone…"

Ignis' eyes slide closed as if in shame; he turns away. "I have done what I had to. You know this." Subconsciously, his fingers feel for the burnmark, and he twitches but manages to stop the pained sound in his throat in the nick of time.

It hasn't deceived the eyes of the shield, however, who has noticed the motion; the amber lingers on the mark before it returns to look at his face. "You really believe this guy then." A statement, not a question, and one so obvious a mere look from Ignis is enough to convey that he isn't going to voice something as apparent, after everything.

"I'm afraid it matters no more what I believe, Gladio," Ignis sighs sadly.

"Actually," the shield starts, and something about that demands Ignis' attention, and he turns back to him, "I think it's all that matters anymore." And Gladio reaches into the folds of his cloak, and pulls out a large, orange-hued gemstone.

Ignis chokes on his gasp. "Gladio! That is-" is all he manages; then, "Why? Now, you, too..."

"Yeah. I know," Gladio confirms, the large fingers closing around the stone. "Tch. Must say, I didn't think it would come to this," he chuckles humorlessly.

Ignis says nothing. Stunned by his shock, his silence demands Gladio to explain.

The shield shakes his head. "To be honest, Iggy...I think this hunch of yours might be the best chance we have. And not just us. I think it's the best chance Lucis has."

"Meaning?"

Gladiolus fixes him with a long look, and something about it makes Ignis want to hide. "Lucis is going to war, Iggy. My sister will be a sitting duck in a defenceless city when the men sail away. And with all due respect-" he rolls his eyes at someone who isn't there, "it's a suicide mission."

"Even if we managed to take Accordo by surprise, we simply don't have enough men to overthrow the city," the shield deadpans. "In any case, the war would end with Lucian defeat, and the way I see it, if I'm going to die for my country, I reckon I might as well try to save it while I'm at it."

"Gladio…"

"What's that they say? Desperate times call for desperate measures." Then, seriousness returns to his features, "The king thinks he's going to avenge his son. Bringing Noct back is the only way to stop this, Iggy. If this guy is real...if there's a chance…"

"...that Noct's still alive and he's back to change His Majesty's mind…!" the gears spin wildly in the young adviser's head.

"Exactly. Worth a try, at least," the shield nods. "Let's face it, Iggy. Like you, I'd be offering my life anyway. Either for the war, or with you, trying to stop it. And the way it looks to me, hnh, Altissia's only going to go one way. We can't win this war."

"Agreed. There simply aren't enough mobilizable men for a successful conquest."

"That's right. So, rather than sailing out there, only to get myself killed…"

"I see…"

"I'd rather not see my sister end up an orphan prize of war and Insomnia turn to ashes under some bandit raids," Gladio says grimly. "Just, lemme ask you one thing."

"You know my answer," Ignis insist.

"Do you really think there's a chance?"

Ignis straightens his posture before answering him. His expression calm and collected again, he tells him, "I'm certain of it."

Gladiolus studies his expression for a moment. The firmness of the jaw, the determined look in the forest-bed eyes. He's looking for any indication of doubt. He isn't seeing any. "In that case," he nods, please audible in his tone as a small smirk curls his lips up at the edge, "let's go."

Metal jingles together when Gladio digs out the set of keys. Ignis can't help a snort. "It wasn't each other the guards were fighting then," he notes with a hint of amusement.

Gladio just shrugs, his grin spreading. "Five more minutes, and it would have been. One of them was clearly cheating."

The cell door opens with a low creak, and Ignis steps out, a quiet breath of relief leaving him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Not yet, at least. We still gotta get out of here," the shield is already pushing passed him, back towards the exit from the prison ward.

"Indeed." Ignis hurries after him. "But how are we going to-" His sentence is interrupted as the sight of the beat-up men, splayed on the floor and damaged furniture, is displayed before him. "Splendid, Gladio. A fine example of exercising excess force on an inferior opponent," he notes with displease, although there is mischief in his eyes.

Gladio doesn't bother with his attempt at humor. "Let's go. Let's head for the winery. There's a boat that'll take us out of the citadel."

"We'll need a hideout."

"Already got that covered. One Glaive owes me one. She's waiting for us at the Lambrican mill."

Ignis' steps slow down to a near halt; he shoots the other an impressed (surprised) look. "You've been busy."

"Believe me, many are less than eager to go to war again. Most just try to keep quiet about it." He turns around to urge the other, "Let's go."

"Gladiolus."

Ignis has come to stand completely still. His eyes on the floor and posture tense, the slight rise and fall of his chest and shoulders the only movement about him. Then, he looks up, and Gladio is sure that the sun has risen at the look of gratitude shining in Ignis' eyes.

"Thank you."

Gladio ogles him for a moment, dumbstruck. Then, that savage grin is back. "What're you sayin', Iggy? That I'd let you keep all the fun for yourself?" The grin is returned, and the shield cocks his head. "You done then? 'Cause we've got a boat to catch."

* * *

"How many did you take out?!" Ignis exclaims as they pass another group of blissfully oblivious soldiers, most of whom looked a bit worse for wear than the men at his cell block.

"Enough to be in serious trouble with the Marshall," Gladio grunts, not slowing down as they pass the unconscious men.

"As if we wouldn't be in enough trouble as is," the strategist mutters. "You do realize you have committed multiple felonies tonight, my friend?"

"Yeah, and a few more to come, so forgive me if I'm not counting."

The prison ward is located in the south-eastern corner of the citadel. Gladio peers into the deep night as they reach the entrance. "Let's move. By the wall, quickly."

As quickly as they can, without making too much noise and never leaving the shadowy protection of the perimeter wall, Gladio leads them along. Ignis' heart hammers in his throat, loud enough that he wishes he could reach in and strangle it to stop it from making so much noise. He is sure the beating is loud enough to give them away.

Gladio shouldn't have come. He has made a mistake helping him, Ignis is sure of that. And if they would be caught together, Gladio would...Gladio, too…

He doesn't have time to finish that thought. In front of him, Gladio stops dead on his tracks with a low, sharp hiss, and raises a balled fist. 'Stop.' Ignis freezes; there's an arm across his chest, sternly guiding him to stand behind the shield. 'Quiet.'

The circle of light washes over their faces as the night guard passes them. Pressed against the crevices of the stone wall, the men don't dare to even breathe as a young archer stomps by them, whistling a light tune to himself as he goes. The torch illuminates them, for an eternal moment they stand there in bare sight.

It must be the guidance of the Six that the archer doesn't happen to glance behind him as he continues across the courtyard. As the light retreats, the danger passes them, Ignis, for the first time, dares to let his breath go.

'Let's go,' Gladio whispers, and the brunet only nods, his heart still shaking at the close call. Silently, like shadows, the men make their way towards the citadel kitchens, and the moldy staircase that leads to the winery.

Winery.

Ignis' eyes widen.

"Gladio!"

"Yeah?" the man hisses back, a bit irritably.

"What about the portcullis?!"

The underground port of the winery, where the boats would load and unload the cargo, was sealed by a portcullis. And the mechanism was on another floor. One of them would have to stay behind to operate it.

Perhaps that hadn't occurred to Gladio since the man cussed lowly. "Alright. We'll bust it somehow. We'll figure it out once we're there. Now we just-"

In the distance, a low horn sounds, then bellows again. Lights light up somewhere on the other side of the yard, where they had come from. Gladiolus' face falls.

"Run!"

Still keeping to the shadows the best they could, the men rush towards the winery. It is only a matter of time before the alarm would alert the entire citadel. If they were still there… From behind them, they hear the indistinguishable shouts of orders being given, the commotion of the guards as the men gather at the courtyard. Salt and smoke sting Ignis' eyes.

He almost trips on his feet when Gladio suddenly shoves him to run ahead of him. They can see the winery already. The commotion on the courtyard is spreading rapidly, there are lights on multiple windows across the citadel. The shouts seem to be closer already.

"Keep goin', Iggy," Gladio grunts. "Get the oar, I'll open the gate. No matter what happens, don't wait for me!"

"But Gladi-!"

"Just do it! Get on the boat and get going. I'll catch up by swimming. Get the Eye, and go!"

One look at the unyielding expression on the bodyguard's face, and Ignis swallows all his protests, and takes the offered fabric bundle that holds the stone. One of them has to operate the gate. Gladio would have a better chance at combat than him should one arise. Seeing no other option, reluctantly Ignis just nods.

"Good. Just remember, Lambrican mill. If I'll...fall behind...for any reason, Iggy, head there. Crowe will help you."

"Crowe…?"

"Yeah, her. She'll be there until sunrise. Make it there."

"But what about-"

"Don't worry about me, okey? I'm right behind you!"

It's not an answer Ignis could accept. But nothing else would be offered for him. As they near the building, the strategist quenches the apprehension in his heart. This isn't the time. He needs the clarity.

The kitchen house is dark, the cooks and the maids still blissfully unaware of the approaching storm as the men dash through the courtyard. The side door leading down to the wine cellar is _right there_ …

Then…

"There! By the kitchens!"

"Shit! Iggy, run!"

They crash through the door, nearly throwing it off the hinges. The second they're through, Gladio slams it shut.

"Gimme me a hand with this!" Together, they slide the two-by-four plank onto its place to bar the door. "That should give us a minute or two. Let's go."

Stealth and silence now all but forgotten, the men rush down to the basement. And Ignis' heart soars as there, in the small loading port, a boat is waiting.

"Let her off the shore!" Gladio grunts as he disappears to the second floor. He doesn't look back, and Ignis cannot linger. If anything happens to Gladio...well, he would blame himself for it later.

Hopping onto the boat, Ignis grabs the oar and pushes the boat off the loading deck. The portcullis is already rising in front of him - no Gladio, though, and Ignis' heart races at the thumping sounds coming from above. Then there is the first sound of splintering as the soldiers break through.

"Gladio! Come on!"

He doesn't catch the reply. Muffled by the stone, he can only keep hoping. The portcullis is up, they need to go. They need to go now! There is another loud crash, and he can hear shouts.

"Gladio!" He pushes the boat away from the port - Gladio told him to go. He would catch up. He said he _would_ catch up…

Right?

'Gladio, please!' Upstairs, the door gives its final lament as it yields with a heavy creak.

"Gladio! Come on!" The boat is through the portcullis.

Gladio dashes down the stairs, pulling his cloak over his head and tossing it aside mid-step. He dives into the water, and swims.

The soldiers flood the basement, some are setting arrows onto the strings, pulling them tight. "Halt! Close the portcullis!"

"Gladio!" He sees panic flashing on the shield's face. The shield kicks harder, more desperately. He is so close. As if in a dream Ignis sees how the portcullis begins to fall. The last he sees of Gladio are his legs as the man dives.

The wooden spikes hit the water. Gladiolus slides under the closing portcullis a mere blink before the spikes sink into the muddy sand of the riverbed.

For a moment, Ignis can't breathe. Where is he?! He didn't...under that, did he? No. No, he couldn't, it'd be… Ignis' mouth has run dry, parched lips formulating words but nothing coming out-

Gladio breaks the water's surface with a loud cough, and immediately dives again to swim under water. The name catches in the adviser's throat, Ignis' heart beats double-time as he watches how the shield emerges from the murky water. In the ears, the enraged shouts of the soldiers, a few arrows fly at them, missing their mark but not by much.

With the last few kicks, Gladio reaches the boat and grabs the outstretched hand. With an exhausted groan, the shield hauls himself into the boat."Go!" Ignis gives the man a quick once over, but as soon as he determines Gladio to be alright, he grabs the oar, and slowly, much slowlier than he would like, the small boat fades into the darkness.


End file.
